


The Road Not Taken

by really_need_a_hobby



Category: Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous Feelings, Difficult Decisions, F/M, Lost Love, youthful flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14271633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/really_need_a_hobby/pseuds/really_need_a_hobby
Summary: Almost twenty years after Julie broke up with her first love to see what other adventures the world held, a Duck reunion gives her a look into the path she nearly took.  A sequel to Not What Could Have Been.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own any of this stuff.

“No, Mr. Smith. Your family care physician may _have_ told you that you need to eat every hour, but if so, I’m afraid he was mistaken….”

 

_Say hello to your friends_

_Babysitters Club_

 

For the last fifteen minutes, as the other doctors and nurses had scurried about the 5th floor cardiac care unit, going about their busy days, Julie had sat at the bedside of a 450 lb. diabetic, _trying_ to explain that he did not need to eat a sandwich every hour, on the hour.

 

Particularly not ice cream sandwiches.

 

Unfortunately, as she watched the corpulent Mr. Smith reach over for a bucket of fried chicken, she realized that her advice was falling on deaf ears.    

_Say hello to the pe-ople who care_

_Babysitters Club_

Taking a bite of a chicken leg, Mr. Smith continued, scrumbles of fried batter falling from his mouth as he spoke.

 

“I’ll get low blood sugar. You can die from that, you know. I knew a guy from church that died that way—“

 

_Nothing’s better than friends_

_Babysitters Club_

“I understand, sir. That’s why it’s important to _monitor_ your blood sugar. There’s no need to eat unless the glucose monitor says it’s low.”

 

 _Welcome to BSC Super Special #119. Dr. Julie and the Inability to Delegate to Nurses_.

 

“Look Miss, I’m just tryna’ be provacative here. I don’t want to mess with my health or nothing.”

 

 _Yeah. Yeah, that would be a real shame_.

 

Glancing down at her pager, she briefly contemplated what she’d ever done in life to deserve such a fate.

 

_Become a doctor, they said. It’ll be really interesting and rewarding, they said._

 

Memories of lying to her mother about who broke the lamp and how mud got tracked across the kitchen all danced through her mind; a lifetime of minor transgressions having finally come to roost. Mentally, she made a note to start being more regular with her trips to confession, a few extra Hail Marys surely preferable to a lifetime of Mr. Smiths.

 

Mr. Smiths _and_ fried chicken scrumbles.

  **.............................**

 

Nine hours later, Julie finally found herself back at home.

 

Walking into the gleaming high-rise condo, the first thing she noticed was the smell of bad Chinese leftovers. Walking over to the kitchen, she noticed a trail of ants marching their way across the black granite, all seeking the mecca of day old General Tso’s that she’d accidentally left out the night before.

 

 _So much for dinner tonight_.

 

Too exhausted to cook, and decidedly no longer in the mood for Chinese, she poured herself a bowl of cereal before collapsing down onto the couch. Pulling out her phone, she finally took the time to look through her slog of missed calls and texts, courtesy of an 18-hour shift spent without her gold iPhone.

 

_Junk call. Junk call. Bank draft reminder. Mom. Junk call. More mom._

Julie sighed, cursing her mother’s lack of outside interests. After 27 years of baking casseroles and shuffling kids to hockey practice, Mary Ann Gaffney had found herself at a complete loss for what to do once her youngest son left home. Eager to fill the void, she’d become a prolific texter and Facebooker, using every medium she could to tell her adult children about who she saw at the grocery store or what random project she saw on Pinterest that she wanted to try.

 

Almost ready to set her phone back down and get some much needed sleep, she noticed one voicemail that looked worth listening to.

 

A voicemail from the one guy under the age of 50 who still made actual phone calls on occasion.

 

“Hey Jules—

 

Curling up with her cream-colored wool blanket, Julie found herself smiling at the familiar Minnesota accent. “It’s Adam. Obviously. I was just calling to see if you were planning on going to Guy’s retirement party. I mean, obviously you don’t have to. I don’t even know if I am, but if you do, I just wanted to let you know you’d be more than welcome to stay at our house. Or not. I just, you know, I wanted you to know you were invited, and that we have an extra guest room if you’d like. Anyway, I hope you’re doing well…”  

 

Glancing back at her phone to check the time, Julie waffled for a moment, trying to decide whether it was appropriate to call a married man at 9 o’clock at night. Hesitating, she finally pressed the little blue pictogram of a telephone, unable to resist an excuse to hear back from her favorite Midwesterner.  

 

Listening to the dial tone, she stared out the window at the glimmering Boston skyline in front of her, thinking back to the times the two of them had snuck up to Mr. Banks’ downtown Minneapolis office, and all of the long conversations they’d had as the city twinkled below.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“You can always get a hotel.”_ Julie reminded herself, her heart racing as she took in another deep breath of re-circulated plane air. _“The Holiday Inn has plenty of rooms…”_

_._

Before she’d gotten on the plane, she’d checked. Twice.

.

After an exhausting eighteen-hour shift, the thought of a long weekend in Edina had sounded lovely, the mere thought of her friend’s taste in sheets enough to sell her on the idea. In the weary haze of sleep deprivation and nostalgia, three nights with her favorite sandy haired hockey player and an endless buffet of off-brand breakfast cereal and $4 wine had seemed like a cure to all of life’s ills.

 

In the fresh light of morning, however, the idea’s flaws were a bit more apparent.

 

After all, it was _not_ 1998 anymore.

 

In her thoughts, she could still see the white Tiffany platter that showed up at her door a few days before her med school graduation; the loopy cursive in a card attached explaining that Adam was unwell, but that he surely sent his love. She could see the embarrassing viral video of a well-heeled junkie getting his ass handed to him by a 300 lb. Occupy protester, and the photo that appeared on the cover of The New York Times a year later, of him being led from the courthouse in a wheelchair, unable to walk with his hands cuffed behind his back.

 

For weeks, that picture in particular had haunted her.

 

At night when she closed her eyes, she’d see a visibly pregnant Laura and their two boys stoically looking on in the background; all of them in perfectly ironed Brooks Brothers outfits and Ferragamo accessories. She’d see the confused looks on the faces of both boys, the younger one clutching a worn teddy bear, and the way that everyone was dressed in crisp, neatly coordinated navies and whites, as if they believed that good tailoring and clean lines could make everything better. She’d think of the complete deadness in Adam’s eyes as the bailiff helped him make his descent; yesteryear’s fiercely independent forward having lost the last morsel of control.

.

Of course, she could also see all of the Christmas newsletters that arrived every year in toile or tartan lined envelopes, filled with sunny paragraphs about trips to BVI and bird watching and baking cookies with the kids. The photos on Facebook of a happy, wholesome family building snowmen and chaperoning team campouts; Adam and Laura always looking as though they could go meet up with The British Royal Family for an impromptu pheasant hunt if need be.  

.

As she dug through her purse for her chapstick, she tried to reconcile all of those competing images, pursing their conversation on the phone two weeks earlier for clues.

 

He’d _sounded_ good. He’d _sounded_ like the boy she’d fallen for at thirteen, offering to let her borrow his parents as they sat together on a southern California pier.

.

Of course, she also knew that was part of the problem. That he was _good_ at sounding good.

 

Many a times, she’d thought back to the familiar rattle of pill bottles in his desk drawer and the “accident” his freshman year, wondering what clues she’d missed. How long the writing had been on the wall, hidden behind a pleasant pastiche.    

.

 _Shit_.

 

The sharp point of a comb finding its way under her fingernail, the search for chapstick was abandoned as Julie cursed the stupid piece of plastic, amazed at how much pain a $.50 comb could inflict.

 

 _Sinead O’Connor had the right idea_.

 

Setting her purse back down, she tried to shake all of the worries from her head, reminding herself instead how nice it would be to see the rest of the Ducks again.

 

She thought about how she’d finally get to catch up with Connie, and give Charlie a hard time about coaching at the same school he’d spent four years whining about. She made a note to congratulate Ken and his wife on the new baby, and Russ on the promotion at work, and Luis on his second marriage.

 

She also thought of how ironic it was that the least noticed Duck was the only one whose pro dreams ever came true. About how the two debaucherous Bash Brothers were now balding men who spent the weekends following their wives around Pottery Barn; Portman working in middle management for a company that made telephone poles, and Fulton having found his calling as a junior high principal. She thought of Averman’s comparably glamorous life as a software developer in California, and of course, she thought of the quiet forward who all of the newspapers hyped as the next Gretsky.

 

 _“They were wrong about that.”_ She thought to herself _. “He was going to be better_.”


	2. Preppy in Tinfoil

June, 1994

"Is everything okay?"

Julie jumped, startled by the sudden interruption.

She had been sitting alone on the pier, lost in thought. Thinking about the fact that back in Maine, her parents were having their annual First Day of Summer party. She could almost hear the sizzle of hamburgers on the grill and her brothers laughing with their friends, the scent of pine trees and tanning oil and charcoal all wafting through the air.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! I'll leave you alone." A soft spoken boy apologized, turning back around to walk towards the shore, his shoulders slumped.

_Adam?_

"Hey, come back here! You don't have to leave, you just startled me."

Suddenly, her preppy teammate perked right back up and rejoined her, sitting down beside her on the weathered bench, his long legs sprawled awkwardly out in front of him.

"What's up?"

"Oh uh, nothing. Sorry, you just looked kind of lonely out here, so I thought I'd make sure everything was okay. I shouldn't have, though. I didn't mean to disrupt whatever you were doing."

"Quit being silly!" She smiled, placing a delicate hand on his toned, sunkissed arm. "You didn't disrupt anything. I was just sitting out here watching the waves."

"Okay. Well, if you want to watch the waves alone, I understand."

"I'd rather watch them with you."

"Oh, alright then. Thanks."

"So…is everything alright?" He finally asked a moment later, the sound of the water lapping against the shoreline in the background.

Looking over at the gifted forward, she suddenly noticed how blue his eyes were.

Before, she'd always been too busy trying to block his shots to pay any attention to  _him_ , but now that he was right there next to her, she noticed that his eyes perfectly matched the ocean below, right down to their sparkle that mirrored the sun's reflection.

"Oh yeah, I was just thinking about home. I think this is the longest I've ever been away from my parents, and I'm  _almost_  starting to miss them."

"Well," He gently chuckled. "If you get to missing them too much, you can always borrow my dad! Because as much as I wish he'd give me a chance to miss him, he totally insisted on coming."

"Oh man…"

"Yeah, if you want the full dad experience, he's here and ready to help. I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you all about his glory days and how he used to score 7,000 goals a game. Pretty impressive for an overweight chain smoker, if you really stop to think about it."

"Definitely. With a dad  _that_  talented, no wonder you're so good!"

For another hour, the two sat against the weathered bench together, watching the seagulls dive down to the water below.

Having grown up with three brothers, Julie was used to boys—they'd filled every moment of her life since birth, always there to share unwanted fart jokes and wrestle one another over the last slice of pizza.

This one, though, was different.

* * *

"Jules?"

His soft voice cutting through buzz of the airport terminal, it seemed as if the outside world faded away, the throngs of cranky families and weary business travelers all disappearing from mind.

.

The severe suits and cold expressions that had been immortalized in the Times and Wall Street Journal were nowhere to be found, replaced instead with the loyal preppy of her happier memories. Standing there in a blue tattersall shirt and light summery chinos, it was clear that the man standing in front of her was  _him_. Wonderfully, fabulously,  _him_.

There were a few more lines around his lovely baby blues than there had been at his wedding fifteen years prior, and the first strands of grey were starting to show in his sandy hair. The pale scar across his cheek from a fight his senior year had now been joined by an extra bump in his nose, and after almost two decades, it  _still_  seemed profoundly unfair that the guy who once brought such power and precision to the ice now struggled with a cane.

Still, from the smile that consumed his entire face down to the engraved signet ring and salt stained driving loafers, he was the same boy she remembered. The same sweet prom king with whom she'd slow danced to Green Day's  _Time of Your Life_  so many years before.

Standing there, she struggled for words as she took it all in, her mind trying to grasp that he was  _back_ ; her prep school prom king was right there beside her, in all of his delightful glory.

* * *

_May, 2000_

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road  
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go_

The air in the ballroom of the country club smelled of the end of an era-Acqua di Gio, Clinique Happy, and contraband Zima all mixed together, giving the room a distinctly 90's fragrance that everybody still took for granted. Outside, the parking lot was filled with rented limousines and borrowed BMWs, while inside, the dance floor was packed with boys in rented satin bow ties and girls in glittery Jessica McClintock dresses, all doing their best to tie up the loose ends of the last four years.

There, in the middle of the dance floor, a spotlight shone on the newly crowned prom king as he held his beloved date in his arms, their bodies slowly swaying back and forth in perfect harmony to the ubiquitous Green Day song.

_So make the best of this test, and don't ask why  
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time_

"I can't believe this is going to be over in two more weeks." Julie said softly, her face buried against the shoulder of Adam's expensive tuxedo jacket as they slowly danced back and forth, her body temporarily one with his as the song played on.

"It doesn't have to be."

His voice was tinged with sadness as he pulled her in even closer.

She was close enough to feel all of the familiar contours of his hockey toned body—a body that she knew  _very_  well after four years. Wrapped in the safe confines of his arms, she briefly wondered if she was making the right choice.

She loved him. She wanted so badly to be with him. There was a piece of her that wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him.

There was a bigger piece of her, however, that wanted Dartmouth. That wanted medical school. That wanted a chance to follow her own dreams. That wanted something bigger than being a NHL wife with a big house and four impeccably dressed kids.

Their dreams weren't compatible, and she knew it.

"It does."

She struggled to hold back tears as he gently lifted her chin with his finger to bring her soft lips to his. She looked up into his watery blue eyes, and then up at the cheap plastic crown atop his head. She knew she was hurting him on what was supposed to be his special night, and it took all of the self-control she had not to scream "Forget Dartmouth! Forget medical school! Of course I want to marry you, Adam Wailes Talbott Banks! Lets leave right now and catch the first flight to Vegas before we can have second thoughts!"

But she didn't.

_So take the photographs, and still-frames in your mind  
Hang it on the shelf of good health and good time_

"Well then" he whispered, his arms wrapped around the waist of her sparkly light blue dress, "we might as well make the most of the time we do have."

_It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right  
I hope you had the time of your life_

* * *

"You know," Julie finally blurted out, looking down at the cane and slight limp with sympathy, "you did  _not_  have to walk all this way!"

_Really mouth? That's what you decide to go with?_

No sooner had the words left her mouth, she found herself wishing that the earth would swallow her whole, allowing her to escape the faux pas.

After all, she was quite certain that was  _not_  the way to greet one's long lost best friend…especially not when said best friend was grown man, surely capable of figuring out for himself whether or not he was up to walking across an airport.

Still, her heart ached as she thought about how difficult it must have been, and hiding her concern wasn't a skill that came naturally.

"Don't worry!" He laughed, his twinkly blue eyes crinkling up in the corners. Transferring his cane over to his other hand, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in tightly. "I'm still as tough as I ever was. That toughness just takes on  _way_  lamer and less impressive forms now!"

"Literally?"

"What?

"Ohhh" He shook his head, trying to contain a chuckle, "that's just brutal. I hope you're nicer to your patients than you are to me.

"Besides" he added, still holding her close, "there's nothing that would make me miss out on an extra few minutes with you!"

What had once been hard, lean muscle was softer now, and there was only one arm around her this time. In the ways that mattered, though, not a thing had changed. He still smelled like soap and good cologne. He still made her feel like she was the only girl on the planet, and like everything would always somehow end in a happily ever after. Held close against his beating heart, the world still felt like a safe and wonderful place, the normal concerns of daily life nowhere to be found.

"And you promise you'll be alright?"

"Promise."

"Okay, good, because I'm pretty excited about the extra few minutes with you, too."

_._

Slowly making their way through the airport, Julie couldn't help but find herself admiring how handsome he really was. Though he looked every minute of his 37 years, he'd developed the patina of a life surprisingly well lived, the decades of lake weekends and questionable mishaps past only giving his chiseled features more character. Combined with his impeccably tailored clothes and adorable smile, she found herself faced with a deadly combination: A preppy who knew about more than  _just_  tying Windsor knots and which fork to use.

All the while, they found themselves catching up on the basics: That Mr. Gaffney had finally retired after more than forty years of designing highway intersections, that Julie's youngest brother had come out as gay, and that Adam had found a part-time job at a hedge fund. In the back of her mind, the deeper questions still gnawed at her, the fact not escaping her that 90% of their small talk had centered around  _her_  life and  _her_  family.

 _Then again, there are some things you don't talk about in the middle of an airport_.

Trying to ease into something slightly more substantive, she decided to bring up one of the safer questions about the Banks family: Scott.

"So speaking of brothers, how is your extremely  _not-gay_  brother doing?"

"Extremely not-gay." Adam replied, a hint of pink travelling to his cheeks. "Apparently he's got his first great grandchild on the way."

_How exactly does one family go so far off the rails?_

"Wow. Uh, good for him?"

"I know, right? I'm kind of hoping he gets to live to see like, his great great great grandchildren. Which, if he can make it to a semi-average life expectancy, will probably actually happen…"

In her head, Julie starting calculating the math.

_37+7=46÷3_

"Okay, then this begs the question." She smiled mischievously, thinking back to a discussion they'd had one night junior year. "Did he end up coming in over or under on the grandpa bet?"

"Under. Twenty nine."

"What?"

"Yeah. Pay up, Dr. Kitty. You owe me $10 and a can of Mountain Dew."

"I thought we'd agreed on $5?"

"We'd agreed on $5, a can of Mountain Dew,  _and a blowjob_." He pointed out, his cheeks now going from pink to bright magenta. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm good with our original agreement if you are, but I figured you might want to alter the terms…"

"So what? Now you're saying my blowjobs are only worth $5?" Julie asked, giving him a light punch in the arm.

Noticing the devilish gleam in his eye, she found herself bracing for the worst as a smile overtook his face.

"This woman likes to beat up the disabled!" Adam announced loudly enough to make curious passersby to turn and look.

Dragging his foot for extra effect, he motioned towards her as he continued his theatric quest to embarrass a certain goalie. "She gets angry and she beats me!"

"I hate you."

"She likes to say hurtful things, too! She tells me she hates me and that this is why God crippled me!"

"Oh my God.

Doubled over with laughter, Julie struggled to get a word in as strangers stared at the two of them. "Are you this horrible to Laura?"

"Me? Horrible?" He shrugged innocently. "Never."

"Why do I suspect she would say otherwise?"

"Why do I suspect you're right?"

.

Going back to quieter discussions, the two continued to make their way through the airport, a certain piece of Julie enjoying the slower pace of walking with him. Those small, deliberate steps meant more time alone together. More time to notice the hint of peppermint on his breath, and the delightful crinkles around his eyes when he'd smile. As they walked, Julie found herself drawn closer and closer, her hand brushing against his several times as she filled him in on her brother's new baby and her mom's idiotic Pinterest projects. All the while, she found herself pondering whether it was really appropriate to complain about her mom's quirks in light of  _his_  family situation.

 _Poor guy_.

.

Half an hour later, the two were finally back out in the parking lot, the evening sun casting both in a warm glow. Approaching his silver Audi SUV, Adam pressed a button to open the back hatch, the tailgate lifting automatically.

"Need any help with your bag?"

"I've got it. Thanks."

"Okay, good." He smiled. "Because if you can't get it, I probably can't, either."

As he limped towards the passenger door, Julie couldn't help but notice the sadness seeping through in his last words.

The irony of his fate didn't escape her; that for someone who'd wanted more than anything to be perfect, he'd been doomed to a life of more imperfections than most.

"Well I see your sense of chivalry hasn't gone anywhere." She reassured him as she climbed into the passenger seat, giving him a friendly peck on the cheek before she got in. "You're still the same knight in shining armor you always were."

"Heh, more like a dork in Reynolds Wrap, but I do what I can."

"Knight in shining armor. Preppy in tinfoil. Close enough."

….


	3. There's a Whole Universe Out There

The summer sun shone as the two drove through the city, the grime and graffiti slowly giving way to pristine suburbia. With Adam still every bit the prudent driver she remembered, Julie kicked off her flip flops and leaned back against the creamy leather of the passenger seat, admiring the SUV's smooth ride as Vampire Weekend's  _M79_  wafted in the background.

The type who was forever loathe to spend money on big ticket purchases, Julie couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy as she noticed how quiet the Audi was. How lacking it was in the weird clanks and whirs that she took for granted with her ancient Honda…not to mention the improvement in smell, with the Audi smelling like leather and cologne, rather unwashed gym clothes and forgotten takeout.

_It's really not fair how good his life smells…_

.

After a few moments, Adam decided to open the sunroof, and as the warm breeze blew through her hair, it was hard not to imagine that time had stopped.

Sitting there in the passenger seat with her first love beside her, it was easy enough to imagine that was the case. That it was once again 1998, and that they were once again two teenagers in love. Easy enough to imagine that life was infinite, and that there was a whole world out there, just waiting for them to join.

.

Looking over at Adam, the fantasy seemed plausible.

Sitting down, and with his tortoise shell Wayfarers hiding the laugh lines around his eyes, the effects of time became less obvious. As long as she ignored the polished mahogany cane resting on the other side of him, and the hint of pudge that had taken permanent residence around his middle, he could still pass as the high school hockey star of her fonder memories. They could still going to Mickey's Diner, or a keg party at some house on the lake; they could still be sneaking back to his dorm room afterward, buzzed on cheap rum and one another.

His right hand obviously  _not_  holding the wheel, it took a bit of self-control not to reach over and take hold of his warm hand; to entwine her fingers with his as she searched the radio for a Blink-182 song to sing along with.

* * *

April, 1999

_No one should take themselves so seriously_

_With so many years ahead to fall inline_

_Why would you wish that on me?_

_I never want to act my age_

_What's my age again?_

_What's my age again?_

The Porsche's sunroof open and the cool spring air whipping a their faces, the two sang along to the Blink-182 song at the top of their lungs, delightfully unconcerned with their lack of actual musical talent. Thankfully, for both Adam's dignity and the ears of other innocent drivers, it was past midnight, and the suburban roads were deserted as the two headed back to Eden Hall from a party in Minnetonka.

Julie looked over at her drenched boyfriend, laughing as she pulled a leaf from his soppy bangs. "I still can't believe you jumped into the lake!"

"Come on, it was calling everyone's name. I can't help it if Charlie and I were the only ones who listened!"

"It wasn't calling anybody's name. It was still partially frozen! If it could have said anything, it would have said 'Stay away, dumbass! It's not even 50 degrees out!', but it couldn't say that, because it's lakey mouth was still frozen shut."

"Meh, you're just jealous that the lake doesn't talk to you." He smiled, reaching over to stick an icy hand up her shirt.

"Ahh!" She screamed, flinching as the cold coursed through her body.

"Damnit. I hate you so much right now!"

Exacting her revenge, she reached over to the middle of the dashboard, turning off his seat warmer and turning the air conditioner to full blast.

"Fuck!"

"Don't worry." She leaned over and whispered in his ear, her warm hand traveling up the thigh of his khaki shorts. "I'll warm you up when we get back to your room."

Between the street lights outside and the soft glow of the dashboard, there was just enough illumination for her to notice that flush of crimson that had spread over his cheeks.

_That's one way to give him some color._

Looking over at her flushed, pink preppy, she wished that time could hurry up. That all of the stop signs and red lights would just disappear, and that she could be back in bed with him, sandwiched between the Egyptian cotton sheets and his delicious, hockey carved body.

* * *

"So uh, just a word of warning—" Adam spoke up, snapping Julie back into the present, "Will is…well, he's a little eccentric. He's going through this phase right now where he likes to pretend to be an octopus. If he starts wiggling around like a fucking weirdo, that's…that's normal. For him."

_Abort sexy thoughts! I repeat, abort sexy thoughts! The 90's definitely are over._

"You raised an octopus? That's pretty great."

"Oh, he's more than just an octopus." Adam clarified, shaking his head. "Last month he was a dinosaur. And before that he was a boat. I still can't quite decide if I'm horrified or honored to have raised such a freak..."

As a warm smile spread across his face, Julie knew the answer.

"You know you're honored. He sounds even weirder than you, and  _that's_ an accomplishment!"

"Heh, yeah." He chuckled, "If I would have spent hockey practice pretending to be a fucking boat, I'm pretty sure my dad and Coach Reilly would have taken terms kicking my ass. They would have torn my sails apart, right along with my not-so-imaginary kidneys.

"I guess things are different now." He continued, chewing at his bottom lip as he put his thoughts together. "When Will pretends to be a boat, everyone's just like 'Oh, Will's being a boat today', as though that's some kind of perfectly normal thing.

"I'm kind of jealous, really…it…would have been nice to have that sort of acceptance. To have any sort of acceptance."

In her mind, Julie could still hear his fifteen year old voice on the phone. The bellowing in the background of Phil going on about some jacket that was left in the living room, or a mistake that Scott had made five years prior.

"Well don't worry. I think you're lovely exactly as you are. Repressed boat dreams and all."

"Nah," He chuckled, "I think I want to be a lottery machine. Like, the fancy plastic kind on the news, where the numbered balls bounce through the air until they roll down the little chute…those things are pretty cool."

"Okay, that's weird even for you. I hereby revoke my unconditional acceptance."

"You can't revoke something that's unconditional."

'Fine. Lotto boy."

…

Before long, they were winding their way through the very same Edina neighborhoods she'd come to know so well during high school. Looking out at all of the sprawling Tudors and colonial revivals, she couldn't help but notice that they were smaller than she remembered. That  _everything_  seemed smaller than she remembered.

The grand, intimidating mansions of her adolescent memories had all been torn down and replaced with worn, scaled down replicas. Replicas that had been built with cheap materials, all showing the scars of Minnesota's brutal winters.

 _I never realized Edina was so average_.

* * *

October, 1999

"Remind me again why I would ever need to say 'The car is blue' in French?" Adam grumbled, chewing on the end of an orange highlighter as he stared down at his textbook.

Julie sat across the battered oak table in the boys' commons room, taking it all in.

Taking in the graffiti on the table, written in pen and Sharpie by other bored students over the decades. The bland, white walls around her, complete with chipping paint and laminated notes reminding students to pick up after themselves. The serious looking boy in front of her, wearing the same khakis and L.L. Bean Norwegian sweater she'd bought him three years prior, adjusting the rimless glasses that he frequently wore during allergy season.

The same rimless glasses that made him look even  _more_  like a 40 year old investment analyst trapped in an 18 year old's body.

"You might need to know it if you ever go to Paris." She suggested, hoping he would take the hint. Hoping that once, just  _once_ , he'd show some glimmer of interest in the world outside of the ice rink.

"And why would I go there?"

…

It was now two months into senior year, and at least for Julie, things were starting to change.

While Adam had spent his summer training up in Canada, working ten hours a day to try to iron out the lingering weakenesses in his wristshot, Julie had been touring colleges back east, envisioning a very different type of future. As she'd roamed the manicured grounds of the Ivies, she couldn't help but find new thoughts taking hold. Thoughts that had nothing to do with hockey scouts, or NHL salary caps, or who said what to whom at lunch.

For a long time, she'd bemoaned the fact that two X chromosmes meant that there would be no NHL in her future. However, as she basked in the rolling hills and gothic architecture, she started to think that might be a  _good_  thing. Surrounded by books and culture and people who'd been places more exotic than Canada, she couldn't help but imagine a more vibrant future for herself; one in which a little more time was spent discussing  _ideas_ , and a little less time was spent discussing Shattuck's defensive line.

Ever since then, the walls of Eden Hall and the endless sea of clean-cut boys in Varsity jackets had seemed like they were closing in around her, trying to turn her into the next 1999 Dairy Princess. With every passing day, she found herself more frustrated with the monotony of routine; with her classmates' seeming acceptance of upper middle class provincialism.

Adam too had fallen victim to the frustration: As horrible as she felt to say it, the same steadfast qualities that she'd once loved now seemed like a noose, strangling the very vibrance out of life.

…

"I don't know. Maybe because it's supposed to be one of the greatest cities in the world?"

"They eat snails and they wear stupid hats. I'm…not really seeing the appeal.

"Besides," He continued, still oblivious to her frustration. "If you go to St. Croix, they already speak English. You don't have to waste your time on stupid shit like this."

"God, that is such a you thing to say!"

"What do you mean?"

Before she could stop it, the thoughts she'd been thinking over the last four months all came spilling out in a grotesque word vomit, spewing the room with her pent up resentments.

"What I mean is that there's a whole fucking universe out there, Adam. A whole fucking universe that doesn't involve St. Croix or hockey or Ralph Lauren or the stock market or ordering chicken strips at every damn meal! A universe in which people wear T-shirts and travel and have  _sex_  that lasts for more than three minutes!"

Stunned, he looked up from his textbook just as the last of Julie's tirade was coming out. She could see the hurt forming across his face, and instantly, she wished she could take it all back. Instead, they both sat there in awkward silence for a moment before Adam quietly began gathering his stuff to get up.

"There's also a whole universe of girls who aren't gold digging sluts."

"Prick."

"Stupid bitch."

* * *

Lost in thought, Julie barely noticed that they had turned off into his neighborhood until she heard a garage door opening, and realized that they were pulling onto a cobblestone drive. Looking ahead, she saw a sprawling three story colonial with black shutters and carefully tended window boxes, all overflowing with sunny yellow flowers.

_Ah. I guess THAT'S what $26M in insider trading gets a person._

_Clearly I made the wrong choices in life…_

"So I take it this is the new house?"

Adam paused for a moment, as if thinking how to answer.

Finally, he just nodded.

"Yeah"

_Well, that was insightful._

"Well, you have as good of taste as ever. It's very…you."

"Indeed it is." He smiled, "You know, I'm not just a fancy plastic lottery machine. I'm  _also_  a house."

"I  _knew_  it! You weren't fooling me with that whole 'I'm a person' thing."

"Man, I can't get anything past you. Damn goalie…"

"Well, seriously, it's beautiful. I can't think of anybody more deserving…"

Adam shrugged, staring ahead at the clapboard Georgian, as if thinking about the thousand life decisions that had led him to where he was.

"Heh, I'm not sure how many people would agree with that last part, but thank you."

….

Walking through the side door off the garage, the fantasy of living in a Brooks Brothers catalog continued as they entered the kitchen. With oak parquet and end grain butcher block accenting the painted cabinets, Julie could recognize the deceptive modesty right away; such understatement might have  _looked_  quaint, but it was well out of her granite and Sub Zero price range.

At the center island stood an extremely pregnant Laura, preparing a salad in a white sundress and blue floral print apron. With her blonde hair pulled into a loose chignon and the ruddy glow of a life spent gardening and playing tennis, Julie couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy towards her replacement.

_Seriously, hasn't anybody in this house ever heard of sweatpants?_

"Hey sweetie," Laura greeted, setting down the cheese grater in her hand to give her husband a quick kiss. "I missed you!"

"And I've missed you, too, Julie. It's been much too long!

"I hope that your flight was alright?"

As Julie and Laura exchanged pleasantries, a chubby preschooler in yellow seersucker waddled over from behind the kitchen island, her blonde bob pinned back with a white bow.

"Daddy!" She squealed, putting her arms out for a hug. Slowly, Adam leaned his cane against the butcher block counter and crouched down the to the girl's level. Her short plump arms wrapped around his neck, he pulled her in closer, leaning over to kiss the top of her forehead.

"And how is my little sugarplum?"

In the background, a TV could be heard blaring, the sounds of a truck commercial being augmented by an enthusiastic burping contest.

"Tucker. Will. Company.

"Sorry about that." Laura apologized with a sigh. "I promise we've  _tried_  to teach them manners."

"Don't worry!" Julie laughed. "I have three brothers, and my parents are  _still_ trying to teach them to be civilized."

"I hope they've had more luck than I'm having…"

"Well, two out of three eventually figured out the whole soap thing, so that was a step in the right direction."

"Heh, my standards are growing lower by the day with those two. If Tucker would figure out soap, I would be one very happy woman.

"Really." Adam agreed, reaching for his cane to help push himself back up off the floor. "The kid smells like ass. I just want to write an apology note to everyone who's stuck being around him."

As Laura turned to help her husband up, both boys walked into the kitchen.

 _Looks like they have this human cloning thing down_.

Lounging near the entryway, both boys had the same tousled hair as their father; the same sparkling blue eyes. In their chino shorts and pastel polos, they were perfect little carbon copies of the first boy Julie had fallen for, right down to Will's boat shoes and Tucker's black sport watch.

"And what were you saying about me?" The older one chimed in, running his fingers through his blonde mane as he leaned against the counter.

"We were talking about the fact that you smell like a dead hobo's ass. But not as good."

"Sweeeet!"

Adam shook his head and sighed.

"I'm so putting you in foster care."

* * *

November, 1999

"Hey…Adam…we umm, we need to talk." Julie said nervously, rubbing the back of her neck as she stared down at the old black and white linoleum.

She had been putting this conversation off for two weeks, not wanting to worry him. Finally, though, Connie had convinced her that she needed to go talk to him. The senior boys' dorms were right next door to the senior girls', but still, she'd almost lost her nerve and turned back around six times during the five minute walk over to his room. As she stood there at his door, her gaze shifting back and forth between the checkerboard floor and his concerned face, she regretted her decision not to turn back around when she had the chance.

"Well then come in." He reassured her, wrapping her in a tender hug.

It was late in the evening, and he'd already stripped down to his pale blue boxers and a thin white undershirt for the night, his contacts once again traded in for sensible glasses thanks to fall allergies. Yet again, his classic, tidy appearance was giving off Future Investment Analyst-vibes, but this time, she found his steadfastness reassuring.

Feeling his strong, muscular arms gently pulling her in towards his warm, toned body, everything felt so perfect. So safe. As she buried her face in his shoulder, she could smell the last hints of his spicy cologne mixed with the scent of laundry detergent from his freshly washed sleep shirt, and she wanted to hop right into bed with him, perhaps removing his freshly laundered shirt while she was at it.

Of course, that was also what had caused this whole mess.

"Now what do we need to talk about?" He asked gently once they were both sitting on his bed, his arm around her waist while his other hand brushed a strand of strawberry blonde hair out of her face.

"I'm late."

"So do we need to talk another time?" He asked, confused by her worry. "I mean, I don't want to keep you from whatever you're running late for."

"No, I mean, I'm. Late."

"Okaaaay…so, do I need to like, take you somewhere? Because I'll get dressed and take you wherever you need to go!"

"No, not that kind of late! I mean, my period's late…I think I'm pregnant."

"Ohhh" He replied slowly, the thought still sinking in. The two sat side by side on his bed, both staring at the floor in silence for a moment before he added "Well, it wouldn't be that big of deal if you are. We'll just get married sooner rather than later."

Enraged, Julie jumped off the bed and stood in front of him, staring down at the clueless boy in front of her, just sitting there in his damned monogrammed boxers.

_I can't believe I let someone who monograms his underwear get me pregnant!_

"What the hell do you mean it wouldn't be that big of a deal?" She shouted, "This is my life we're talking about! My future! What about college, huh? What about all of things I want to do?"

"I mean, I guess it would suck to go to prom pregnant, and I'd always imagined a wedding that wasn't of the shotgun variety" he shrugged, "but it's not like this is some Lifetime movie where we'd have to drop out of school and go work in the coal mines. I always figured we'd get married and have kids together, anyway, so would it really be the end of the world to do things a couple years sooner than we'd had in mind?"

_We? What the hell do you mean by 'we'? Because I sure as hell wasn't in on this plan! You never consulted with me on any of this!_

"College, Adam. College. How the hell am I supposed to go to college with a kid?"

"It's not like you're going to  _need_  to go to college or anything. You know full and well I'll easily be able to support a family next year. If you want, we can go to college together after I've retired and the kids are older. It'll be fun...we can study together when we're like, 40."

_Oh. My. God. It's like I'm talking to Charlie here, but worse! How many concussions has this idiot had?!_

"Do you not understand how serious this is?"

"I get that it's not ideal." He replied, taking a deep breath. "I know this isn't what we either one had in mind. I'm just saying that in the grand scheme of things, this wouldn't actually change our lives  _that_  much."

"Well, it might not change your plans, but it would sure as hell change mine!"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought about the other option.

"So…you're wanting an abortion? Because I mean, that's not what I want to do, but yeah, I can always get the money from my parents. I suppose it wouldn't be the first time they've written a check for that…"

"That's not what I'm talking about! I don't want an abortion!"

Julie couldn't hold it in anymore. She collapsed onto his bed, sobbing.

"So what do you want, then?" He asked gently, rubbing her back as she cried.

"I don't know."

Not knowing what else to do, Adam simply laid down next to her, holding her as her body heaved up and down from the tears. After more than an hour, her crying started to slow, and the two fell asleep in his bed, his arm still wrapped around her.

…


	4. Living in a Gangster's Paradise

“I hope you like chicken noodle casserole?” Laura asked, a blue LeCreuset baking dish in hand. “I really did intend to fix something nicer, but the day just got away. Besides, between Adam and the kids, trying to fix anything that’s not fried or covered in cheese really becomes a bit of a lost cause…

 

“We do have lasagna and tater tot casserole in the freezer, though. Or, if you like, you and Adam would be welcome to go get something that’s _not_ processed and covered in Velveeta.”

 

“Why does something tell me he would be the wrong dinner companion for that?”

 

“Good point!” Laura laughed, walking towards the dining room. “You never know. He might be on his good behavior for you; willing to pretend that he eats vegetables and things that aren’t on the kids’ menu.”

…………

Walking into the dining room, a salad bowl in hand, Julie couldn’t help marvel at the perfection of everything. With deep coral walls and intricate crown molding; expansive windows and blue toile curtains, it really was quite the monument to _good taste_. Even with three kids, the table was set with delicate china and lead crystal that glistened in the sunlight, the grandeur on par with the formal dinners Bunny had once thrown.

 

The difference was, this time, it all seemed natural. Like people were just _supposed_ to use bone china and 19 th century silverware to eat chicken casserole on a Friday night; the patina and chipped plates bearing testimony to the normalcy of it all.

 

“Why can’t you find more friends like this?” Laura joked as Julie placed the salad bowl on the table. “Scott and Larson never help.”

 

“Well of course they don’t. They’re men.”

 

Julie shot him a piercing look as Laura reached over to light the candles.

 

“Indeed they are. Sad, lonely, _celibate_ men.”

 

“Point well taken.”

 

By that time, all three kids were seated, and as Laura passed the dinner rolls, Will started wiggling around, showing off his finest octopus moves.

 

“Will, sweetie, what did I say about being an octopus at the table?”

 

“Blub blub blub blub”

 

“Well, at least eat your salad. Octopi need their vegetables, too.”

 

“Blub blub.”

* * *

 

November, 1999

 

“I’m not a mom!” Julie squealed from the cramped bathroom she and Connie shared with their suitemates.

 

It had been three days since her talk with Adam, and finally, her period had come. They weren’t going to be teen parents, after all.

 

“Congratulations!” Connie cheered, tackling her in an excited hug after she finished up in the restroom. “I’m so happy that you aren’t going to be a mommy!”

 

The two stood there for a moment, arms still around one another, swaying back and fourth in joyous relief.

 

“However, that would have been the sexiest kid ever!” Connie added after a moment.

 

“Oh my gosh, that is so wrong!”

 

Julie had never dreamed that she could be so happy to get her period. A wave of relief rushed over her entire body, and she felt like she was walking on white, fluffy clouds coated with unicorn dust.

 

A smaller part of her, though, was _almost_ disappointed.

 

After her talk with Adam, a piece of her had come around to his logic. She had spent the last two days daydreaming about buying a perfect house together, with a perfect white picket fence. She could picture them sitting together on the back porch, sipping lemonade and laughing as their children ran through the grass barefoot, chasing fireflies. She could see herself standing in the front door, calling everyone inside for dinner while Adam taught their kids to play hockey in the driveway. She could see them all curled up together in a big soft bed, reading bedtime stories, and making pancakes together in the kitchen on lazy Saturday mornings.

 

It wasn’t really the life she’d always pictured for herself, but it did sound awfully nice. Better, even, in some ways.    

* * *

 

That evening after dinner, Julie walked back upstairs to the guest room to unpack her things and change into pajamas.

 

Along the way, she couldn’t help but admire it all. The perfect white wainscoting that her mom had always wanted when they were growing up, but that her family never quite had the extra money for. The abundance of built-in bookshelves in every room, filled with well-loved books and old hockey trophies and expensive tchotchkes from Tiffany’s and elementary school art projects. The cozy window seat in the guest bedroom, and the way that the whole room smelled like Chanel No.5. The gallery wall in the upstairs hallway, filled with artistic black and white prints of the family at the beach, and the kids having snowball fights, and Adam and Laura in their younger days.

 

She smiled at Adam’s senior picture, remembering the boy who still had the whole world in front of him, and the picture taken a few months later of the Eden Hall hockey team holding their national championship banner, Adam’s arm around her waist.

.

By the time she made her way back downstairs, Laura was still straightening up in the kitchen, while Adam and the kids had all changed into their pajamas for the night, and were now in the process of building a blanket fort in the living room.

 

“You need any help with anything?” Julie asked when she saw that Laura was still in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.

 

“Oh no, I was just taking advantage of the fact that Caroline’s occupied for once. I’m almost done, though. You’re more than welcome to go join the construction project they seem to have going on!”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Of course. I do this every day.”

 

Back in the living room, Adam was holding one corner of a sheet with his mouth as he tried to clear off a section of bookshelf, while Tucker and Will secured the other corners to a mahogany end table and an overstuffed ottoman. Under the coffee table, a golden retriever was lying on the Oriental rug asleep, the fur around his eyes faded white with age.

 

Caroline, meanwhile, was sitting under a ticking striped couch cushion that had been leaned against the paneling, playing with a doll that had the same haircut as her.

 

Taking the whole scene in, Julie couldn’t help but feel as if she had stepped into a Norman Rockwell painting…if, that is, Norman Rockwell had focused his efforts on painting the rich and unusually attractive.

 

 _“He really is a DILF.”_ Julie thought, embarrassed by both the term and inappropriate thought, but unable to deny its accuracy.

.

Indeed, standing there engrossed in his blanket forts, Adam was _a dad_. In poplin pajama pants and a faded T-shirt, there was no longer any camouflaging the ravages of time; the careful tailoring no longer there to hide what 20 years of partial paralysis had done to his body. It was now obvious that his right arm hung awkwardly at his side, much thinner than his left. The sculpted chest and perfectly carved abs she used to trace with her fingers were nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a tummy that was a bit rounder and jigglier than it had appeared under his button down. With his Cole Haans off, there was nothing to hide the plastic leg brace that kept him from tripping over his own foot, and without his cane, he had to learn against the blue and white loveseat for support.

 

Still, to Julie, he was as handsome as ever, his decidedly imperfect body just begging to be snuggled.      

After all, there had always been something endearing about his flaws.

 

The various scars and freckles and oddly shaped bits had always been a reminder that underneath all of the hype, there was still a real person. A real person _far_ sexier and more interesting than any newspaper article would ever let on.

* * *

 

December, 1999

 

_Keep spending most our lives_

_Livin’ in a gangsta’s paradise_

_Been spending most their lives_

_Livin’ in a gangsta’s paradise_

_“Really_?” Julie thought, the stereo thumping as she looked around the paneled living room and her khaki clad classmates _“Could there be a more ironic song?”_

It was the Saturday before Christmas break, and Luke Riley had taken advantage of his parents’ trip the Caribbean, filling their Edina home with teenage revelers, all eager for a break from finals. Adam had tried to stay behind at the dorms, but Julie was having none of it, the party a perfect excuse to take a break from calculus.

 

Over in the kitchen, he was talking with Reid Larson and some other Breck B-listers, while Julie and Connie were in the living room, drinking their vodka punch by the fire. The logs crackled as Connie and Julie people watched, laughing at Portman’s failed attempt at picking up a cheerleader and Erica Tate’s ‘Sexy Mrs. Clause’ outfit.

 

Unfortunately for Julie, their girl bonding time was soon interrupted by _Chad_ , a lacrosse bro with frosted tips and a double digit IQ. On the rebound from her most recent breakup with Guy, Connie was willing to overlook Chad’s penchant for hair gel and puka shell necklaces in favor of the fact that he had a Camaro and _wasn’t Guy_.

“So what are _you_ doing for Christmas, Chad?” She slurred, reaching over to put her hand on the lacrosse player’s arm.

 

“Thinkin’ about you, baby.”

 

“Oh _really_?”

 

“Of course, sweet thing.” Chad replied, taking another drink of his Bud Light as he stared down her shirt.

 

 

_This is sadder than Thad._

 

Leaving Connie and Chad to their own questionable devices, Julie made her way over the kitchen, where she was greeted by the smell of beer and the sight of her favorite preppy.

 

“Decided you just couldn’t be away from us cool kids any longer, huh?”

 

“You guessed it!”

 

“Dare I ask what tore you away from Connie?” He asked, setting his drink down to put an arm around her waist.

 

Held closely, Julie could smell the alcohol on his breath mixing with his cologne, and leaning into his shoulder, she found herself wishing she could stay in his arms forever, the stifling monotony of Minnesota be damned.

 

“Chad.”

 

“Frosted Tips?” He chuckled, “That’s sadder than Thad…”

 

“Thank you!”

 

“Seriously. Thad’s a sort of decent guy, and his dad is like, one of seventy-six vice presidents at the bank.   Chad is…somehow less cool.”  

 

“Perfect summary.” She agreed. “Plus, Thad doesn’t call people ‘sweet thing’ unironically. Or ironically, for that matter.”

 

Noticing that her drink was nearly empty, Julie decided to pull herself away long enough to refill her plastic cup. At just about that same time, Rick Riley came stumbling the kitchen in search of another beer, happily plowing his way through any high school kids who stood in the way.

 

Bumping into Julie, memories of his quest for beer vanished, the sight of her cleavage _far_ more appealing than another can of Keystone. A lecherous grin curled up through his lips as he looked her up and down, Adam standing just a foot away.

 

“I see you grew some quality tits. Let me, uh, let me know if you ever get tired of this faggot. I can show you what a _real_ man is like.”

 

Adam’s eyes narrowed as he stared down his freshman year tormentor, four years of rage threatening to boil over.

 

“Go to hell, you sick fuck.”

 

“Aww, did somebody grow some balls?” Rick sneered, giving Adam a shove into the granite counter behind him.

 

With that, the last morsel of self-control left Adam’s body as he landed a solid punch to Rick’s jaw. Rick collapsed to the travertine floor as Adam gave a satisfied smirk.

 

“I sure as hell have more balls than you ever did. Prick.”

 

By this time, the party had grown silent, everybody crowded into the kitchen to watch the melee between Varsity Captain Past and Varsity Captain Present.   Looking at a slightly dazed Rick Riley on ground, a sense of excitement filled the air, the on-lookers clamoring for a bit of blood to liven up the night.

 

Adam, meanwhile, felt quite satisfied with his efforts, turning back around to resume his conversation with Julie, all the while doing his best to pretend that his hand _didn’t_ throb.

 

Disappointed, his fellow party goers started to do the same, just as Rick recovered his senses and rose from the floor. Grabbing a beer bottle from the island, he reached back and swung.

 

Before anybody had time to process what was about to happen next, Rick delivered a devastating blow above Adam’s left ear, the amber glass shattering against the center’s skull. Stumbling forward, Adam struggled to regain his balance as blood began pouring down his face; his pale yellow oxford drenched within seconds.

 

_Keep spending most our lives_

_Livin’ in a gangsta’s paradise_

 

The song’s foreboding lyrics continued, the thumping bass now the only sound in the house. A sea of crimson pooled at Adam’s feet while the whole party stood frozen, everybody too shocked to move.

 

_Been spending most their lives_

_Livin’ in a gangsta’s paradise_

The first to regain his composure, Larson grabbed a clean tea towel that had been hanging from the handle of the oven. Pressing it firmly against the side of his friend’s face, he put an arm around Adam’s shoulder.

 

“Alrighty. Looks like we’re going to make a little trip to the emergency room.”

.

For the majority of the guests, the stunned silence continued as Larson led Adam out the door, Connie and Julie following wordlessly behind. Still not saying a thing, the two walked out into the chilly night air, climbing into the backseat of Larson’s maroon Camry as the December wind nipped at their faces.

 

The passenger door groaned as Julie closed it behind her, and she found herself praying as she shoved a gym bag and crumpled fast food wrappers to the side.

 

 _Please God. Let him be alright_.

 

Retrieving a Nokia from the battered center console, Larson passed the phone back to Julie.

 

“Can you call Banksie’s dad for me? Ask him which hospital has the best plastic surgeon.”

 

A phone call to Phil later, everybody sat in silence for the next half hour, all four unsure what else to say. Winding their way through the dark suburban streets, the lights of the city gradually appeared, a Dave Matthews CD playing in the background. All the while in the backseat, Connie and Julie held hands, both willing themselves not to cry.

 

 _I’m sure it’s not that bad_.

 

_Just a couple of stitches._

_Surely not that bad_.

 

Over and over she told herself the same thing, squeezing Connie’s hand as _Ants Marching_ played over the tinny stereo.

.

Her optimism came crashing down in the harsh light of the emergency room.

 

As Adam removed the tea towel to show the triage nurse what had happened, Julie’s heart sank. His once perfect, unblemished skin had been sliced open from above his ear to below the corner of his nose, the cut deep enough to expose the fat underneath. Instantly, she realized that he’d never look the same, and as she thought about the fact that she’d been the one to drag him to the party, her eyes welled with tears.

 

 _I ruined his life_.

 

Sitting down, Julie picked the non-bloodied side, desperate to get the gruesome image out of her head. Her hand resting on his thigh as he held the towel against his face, she stared down at the floor, counting the mauve and white tiles as other people started to flow in.

 

_I seriously ruined his life._

In groups of two or three, the room slowly began to fill as concerned partygoers trickled in, Charlie and Guy both coming by at one point to pat him on the back and wish him well. Crawford came by too, along with the infamous Thad, both reassuring him that this was the manliest thing they’d ever heard of. Finally, Scott made his way over, still flushed and sporting a wrinkled, unbuttoned shirt courtesy of the Waffle House waitress he’d been boning when the phone rang.

 

“Dude” Scott nodded, sitting down next to his baby brother.

 

The two sat in silence for a moment, Scott well aware that the perennially insecure center was hurting far more than he let on.

 

“It’s going to be okay, man.

 

“And you’re going to look badass as hell.”

 

………

Four hours later, the crowd had cleared, and Julie sat alone in the family waiting room, still fighting back tears as she thought about what she had done. Thinking about the fact that _she_ had been the one to drag him to the party; that _she_ had been the one he was trying to defend.

 

_It’s my fault._

_I ruined his life, and it’s all my fault_.

 

She was flipping through an issue of Family Circle, attempting to quiet her guilt, when she heard footsteps enter the room.

 

Looking up, she saw her beloved preppy, still in his blood soaked oxford. Along the side of his face ran a thin train track of stitches, over a hundred tidy little black knots holding the pieces of his cheek together.

 

Once again, all attempts at being strong for him flew out the window, her whole body shaking as the tears ran down her face.

 

Sitting down beside her, Adam pulled her in next to him as he leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.

 

“I’m sorry if I worried you.”

 

The sobbing continued as she struggled to speak, choking over her own words as her nose and throat became clogged from all of the tears.

 

“I-I’m sorry I ruined your life.”

 

“Wait. What?”

 

“I dragged you there. It’s, it’s my fault you’re going to be deformed.”

 

Just as even _more_ guilt washed over her at the realization of what she’d said, Adam let out a chuckle, holding her in even closer.

 

“Well, this _deformed_ guy doesn’t think it’s your fault at all! But even if it was, I’d love you just the same.

 

“Besides, my dad brought in the best plastic surgeon in the state. I’ll probably only be like, 1/3 of the way deformed by the time it’s all said and done.”

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Jules” He greeted, removing the sheet from his mouth “we need your engineering expertise over here! Want to help us figure out how to use that other sheet over there as a door without collapsing everything?”

 

“I don’t know, I’m not much of a blanket fort engineer.”

 

“What?” He laughed, his smile still as intoxicating as ever. “You go to some fancy, Ivy League college, and they don’t even cover Blanket Forts 101? I _knew_ I was right to pass up Harvard!”

 

Before long, they had not only successfully constructed a door for the blanket fort, but also room dividers, a decorative pitched roof, and a moat. The blanket fort compound now spanned not only the entire living room, but spilled into the hallway and kitchen, filling the colonial with flowers and polka dots and airplanes.

 

_How many sets of sheets do these people even own?_

 

Standing by the kitchen island, the two looked out amid the sea of linens and admired their handiwork, Adam swirling his glass of bourbon as they took their creation in.

 

“And you tried to claim you didn’t know anything about blanket forts…”

 

“You were the developer, architect, and lead engineer on this project.” Julie pointed out, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I was just the foreman.”

 

“The foreman is the one who makes things happen.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

January, 2000

 

“What do you _want_ to do?” Julie asked, laying next to Adam.

 

Outside, the snow was falling, while inside, the two lay side by side in his bed, the fluffy down comforter covering their half-naked bodies.

 

“I mean, I _want_ to go the NHL, but I want to make as much money as possible when I do.”

.

For months, the topic had been hanging in the air, creating an ever-present cloud of uncertainty: What to do after high school.

 

For every senior, it was at once an exciting and dreadful topic, the far stakes higher than what any of them had faced in their eighteen years prior.

 

For Adam in particular, it was a fraught matter.

 

On one hand, he was good.

 

Extremely good. All-American, two national championships, NHL draft good.

 

On the other hand, at 18, he couldn’t walk through metal detectors for all the titanium in his body. He’d already been under the knife more than half of the guys in the pros, and the scouts _knew_ it.

 

Time was a complicated enough matter for any top athlete, but for him, it was exceptionally problematic. A year of D1 hockey would give him more time to develop, and more time to prove that his battered body _could_ hold up to the harder hits of the next level. However, it would also be another year of running down the clock; a clock that he knew didn’t have enough time to begin with.

.

Julie wrapped an arm around him, pulling herself closer. Close enough to smell the hints of cologne lingering on his neck, and to feel the rise and fall of every breath. Nuzzling up against him, she ran a finger over the scar along his cheek, happy to note that he wasn’t _deformed_ in the least, the thin pale scar having only made him more delicious.

 

“So what are you thinking if you don’t go right into the draft?”

 

“Harvard. Minnesota. One of the two.”

 

“Heh, guess there’s no escaping the maroon for you, is there?”

 

“It _is_ a flattering color.”

 

All the while as they lay there next to one another, Julie realized that the clock on his pro career wasn’t the only one ticking. The relationship that had felt so infinite two years before was now nearing its logical end; regardless of where he went, and regardless of where she went, medical school and the NHL were not going to be good bedfellows.

 

Still, as the snow fell outside, she tried to push all of that out of her head. In _this_ moment, curled up next to him in the warm cocoon of his bed, life was wonderful.  


	5. Saying Goodbye

“Goodnight, Stinky.” Adam smiled, leaning down to kiss the top of his eldest son’s head.

 

“Goodnight, Jacques Cousteau.” He added, turning to his younger son.

 

“Night night, Dad.” Will replied, wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s squishy waist. “I love you.”

 

Adam’s smile grew wider as he ruffled his fingers through his son’s sandy hair, pausing to take it all in. Pulling Will in tighter, he just stood there, relishing the moment. Relishing the last moments of boyhood with a son who had largely grown up without him.

 

“I love you, too, my dear octopus. I love you and Stinky more than anything.”

.

Looking on at the display of affection, Tucker’s seventh grade boy instincts soon kicked in, demanding that he bring an end to the Hallmark Moment before his family could descend into any further lameness.

 

“Gaaaaaaaay!”

 

“Dude.” Adam shook his head, chuckling. “You’re like, _The Pretty Pretty Princess_ all-time champ in his house.”

 

“Just jealous I beat you.”

 

“Well no shit, Princess Di. Don’t you know you’re supposed to let your dad win at that stuff?”

 

“Dork”

 

As she stood back and watched it all, Julie could feel herself melting—for all of the turns his life had taken, the best qualities were still there. The guy who had obliged many a five-year-old fan in his day was alive and well, every bit as adorable as he had been at seventeen.

 

 _“Perhaps cuter even.”_ She thought, noting that all of those weekends spent out on the lake had had a _very_ positive impact on his appearance.  

 

_The sun has definitely been his friend._

_……_

“You know,” She joked a few minutes later, looking at the pink floral print walls and yellow striped ceiling that now surrounded her and Adam, “I think we might be living out every second grader’s ultimate fantasy here.”

 

“A boy and a girl in the same blanket fort?” He laughed, reaching for a Dorito. “Never! You’ll still have cooties for at least another three years.”

 

Having loved the blanket fort too much to tear it down, the two had decided to make the most of the sheet-covered living room, having set up camp under a particularly luxurious expanse of Egyptian cotton. Sitting atop overstuffed throw pillows, the two were surrounded by junk food, bourbon, and sangria, giving them an adult-friendly take on the childhood paradise.

 

“How do you know I don’t still have cooties?”

 

“Well, I mean, you might, but they’re called social diseases now, and I don’t think we’re being _that_ kind of social.”

 

“Eww!

 

“Also, can we just take a moment to appreciate your use of euphemism here? Because I’m pretty sure the last person I heard refer to them as ‘social diseases’ was my 80 year old Presbyterian grandmother.”

 

Upstairs, Laura could be heard crying about a mess that had been made in the bathroom, the details of which Julie could only imagine. Feeing guilty, she turned towards Adam just as he was reaching for a handful of gummy bears.

 

“Do…you think one of us should go up there and make sure everything is okay?”

 

“Come on.” He shrugged. ”She knows I can’t do stairs, and you’re _obviously_ needed down here to help me with these gummy bears.”

 

_It’s a three-story house._

 

“So…you legitimately haven’t been upstairs?”

 

_I mean, if nothing else, it looks like you could afford an elevator._

 

“Not once.”

 

“You bought a house that you can’t access two-thirds of?”

 

A mischievous smile overtook his face as he grabbed an Oreo.

 

“ _Yes I did_. Definitely the best part of all of this.”

 

_Geez_

 

Realizing all too well what he was talking about, she felt a familiar twinge of irritation washing over; one that she’d first felt in HomeEc when she realized he didn’t know how to wash a dish, and that had never quite gone away since.

 

“Has anyone told you lately that you’re horrible?”

 

“Weirdly enough, I think Laura _has_ mentioned that a few times, now that you bring it up…”

 

“I can’t imagine why.”

 

“Neither can I.”

…………………………

 

February 24, 2000

 

“I mean, I just, ugh…I just can’t do this anymore. Not for like, the rest of my life.”

 

As Julie had checked the mail that morning, she realized that the clock on their relationship had run down to the zero hour. The fat green and white envelope in hand, the Dartmouth admissions office had confirmed that there were things in her future besides being an NHL wife. Things besides following Adam wherever _he_ went.

 

“No offense, but like, are you sure?”

 

Connie set on the bed across, clutching a blue and yellow floral pillow against her chest as the sleet outside pelted against the window.

.

In _her_ mind, the issue was a no-brainer. Even though she and Guy had a much rockier history than Adam and Julie, she had always considered it a given that she’d be following Guy wherever the sport took him.

 

After all, Guy wasn’t perfect, but he was the only boy she’d ever really loved. And, following him to college or the minors still sounded more interesting than going to the community college and becoming a dental hygienist like her mother.

.

“Yeah. I mean—“ Julie paused, trying to think how to phrase things. How to avoid insulting her best friend’s ambitions…or lack thereof.

 

_I don’t want to be like our moms._

_I don’t want to spend the rest of my life driving a Volvo that smells like feet, and having to thank my husband for the “privilege” of staying home all day and scrubbing toilets._

 

“I mean, Adam’s great and all, but he’s _Adam_. He’ll probably want to talk about the stock market at dinner and give our kids fifteen middle names each. I don’t think I’m up for a lifetime of that.”

 

_Also, he doesn’t know how to use a toaster._

“Good point! Still, he’s going to be like, crazy rich. And he _is_ dreamy.”

 

“What?” Julie squealed, throwing a stuffed bear at her roommate. “You did _not_ just call Adam dreamy!”

 

“I mean, don’t worry, I’m not like, wanting to steal him from you or anything, but yeah, dude’s dreamy. Can’t think of anyone who would disagree. That’s…just one of those side effects of having eyes. Or not.

 

“Pretty sure Blind Brenda’s into him, too.”

 

Julie shook her head, trying to figure out how their discussion had taken such a turn for the absurd, yet also deeply grateful for her roommate’s sense of humor.

 

“Blind Brenda is _not_ into him.”

 

“Umm…yeah. You notice how often she bumps into him? And how she never bumps into us? That’s…not an accident. Blind Brenda’s horny as hell, and she is dying to do the horizontal tango with the boy.”

 

“Eww!”

 

“That’s not what Blind Brenda’s thinking!”

……………………..

 

Back under the blanket fort, Adam leaned against the bottom of the sofa as he poured himself another glass of bourbon.

 

“So, Dr. Kitty,” He asked, drink firmly in hand, “is being a rich, important doctor as fun as it sounds?”

 

Now on his ninth refill, his eyelids were starting to grow a little heavy as he lifted the crystal lowball to his mouth, the amber liquid easing the awkwardness of 20 years apart.

 

“ _I’m_ the rich one?” She shook her head, thinking back to her ancient Honda and mid-six figure student loans.

 

_Self-awareness is not this boy’s gift._

 

“But no, honestly, it’s about a thousand times less interesting than what it looks like on TV.”

 

“What?” His heavy eyes grew wide with mock incredulousness as a smile overtook his face. “TV isn’t an accurate representation of reality? What’s next, are you going to tell me that Benny Hinn can’t resurrect my NHL dreams?”

 

“Oh, of course he can, Adam. You just have to _believe_.

 

“But yeah, no. Turns out it’s not really like, tons of sexy people solving sexy mystery diseases every hour. It’s mostly just prescribing cholesterol medication. And paperwork. And paperwork _about_ prescribing cholesterol medication.”

 

“Man. If that doesn’t get your blood flowing in the morning, I don’t know what will.”

 

“So what about you?” Julie asked, reaching for a handful of gummy bears. “Are you hedge fund guys all as rich and evil as you seem?”

 

“Evil?” He laughed, throwing a Dorito at her.

 

“But nope. I’m _definitely_ not rich, and I’m pretty sure I’m not evil.”

 

“This is an impressive house for someone who’s _definitely not rich_ …”

 

“Think of it as the consolation prize for being the guy who’d be most sympathetic to a jury.”

 

Though the words were casual, they hung in the air like a bit of August humidity after a rainstorm, their meaning dancing through Julie’s head far longer than Adam had intended.

 

 _Four years_.

 

“So is the hedge fund life better than investment banking was?”

 

He set his drink down again, chewing on the side of his lip as he thought about the question. For a moment they sat in silence, him running a hand through his thick mane as he contemplated the reality of his situation. Finally, he nodded.

 

“I mean, I don’t do much…I _can’t_ do much. I’m forever barred from anything useful. But, I finally have _time_. I get to see Laura and the kids, and spend more than like, a day a month with them. I can work with a physical therapist, and go the gym, and get enough sleep, and that stuff’s…that stuff’s a huge life changer. I mean, I don’t feel like death every day. And I’m able to do more. I can even like, almost use my right hand again, which is really lame thing to be excited about, but it’s nice, because hands are useful to have…”

 

Looking down, Julie noticed that he could indeed wiggle his thumb and bend his wrist. A smile spread over her face, and inside, she could feel herself squealing with delight at this unexpected bit of news.

 

_Even that much improvement has to make his day-to-day life a lot easier._

 

“What?” Leaning over, she took hold of his hand and brought it in closer, trying to believe what she was feeling as his thumb squeezed against the back of her hand. “No. Not dorky at all. Hands _are_ really useful to have. I really enjoy having two of them!”

 

“Conversations 17 year old me would have never imagined.”

 

“Oh come on.” Julie laughed, “Technically, we probably had this exact conversation at some point. You just didn’t imagine it being so permanent in nature.”

 

“Okay, true. Also, my standards for functionality were _way_ higher!”

 

“Lowered ex-pect-ations” She sang in a deep alto, referencing the old MadTV skit as she gently squeezed his hand back.

 

“Seriously. It’s not even funny how much that sums up my life.”

 

“Ditto.

 

“Do you ever stop to think what our seventeen year old selves would do if they could like, see into the future and see what becomes of their lives?” She pondered, leaning towards him as she chewed the side of her lip.

 

“Heh, I’m pretty sure if 17 year old me could have seen into the future, there wouldn’t _be_ an adult me. He would have borrowed Dwayne’s lasso and joined ol’ Garrett.

 

“The kid from Shattuck who hung himself.” Adam clarified, noticing her confusion. “Did it in the old Hawk ice rink like, a mile down the road from here.”

 

“Shit. I’d forgotten about that.

 

“But yeah, that’s warped. I mean, not that 17 year old me wouldn’t be tempted to join you...”

 

“Whaat?” His incredulousness real this time, he did his best to play it off, unsure how to handle the _real_ conversation at the core of it all. “This coming from Dr. Kitty? The one person on the planet whose dreams actually did come to fruition? Nope. Seventeen year old me isn’t allowing that.”

 

“And how are you going to stop me?” She challenged, leaning closer yet.

 

 _“Damn it, Cat Lady.”_ She thought, remembering the words of her old Catholic school principal. _“Better leave some room for Jesus there.”_

 

“This is seventeen year old me we’re talking about! Thirty eight year old me isn’t quite up to leading a parade of disabled turtles, but seventeen year old me could _totally_ take you.”

 

“Not if he’s dead.”

 

“Shit, I guess you have a point there.” He chuckled, reaching for another Dorito. “Fine. Seventeen year old me will stick around if it means you will. But only because I care about New England’s fatasses getting their cholesterol medication.”

 

“Now _that_ is the selfless guy I remember.”

 

“I do what I can.

 

“Besides,” He added a moment later, the earnestness returning to his voice. “ _This_ , right now, is pretty nice. And not just in a ‘lowered expectations’ way.”

 

 

 

  

…………………….

February 26, 2000

 

“Is everything okay?” Adam whispered, leaning over towards Julie.

 

The two were sitting together in fourth period AP English, listening as Mrs. Connely droned on for half an hour about the symbolism in Moby Dick, leaving the class full of second semester seniors close to tears from sheer tedium of it all.

 

Her mind on other things, Julie had spent the period doodling in her black and white speckled notebook, the endless string of boxes and swirls helping quiet her nerves.

 

 _No. No it’s not. Because I’m about four hours from breaking up with you_.

 

“Yeah, just bored. That’s all.”

 

“I’d be worried if you weren’t. Those look like some quality notes you’ve been taking there.”

 

Looking over at his paper, she smiled.

 

_Nothing._

 

“You’re one to talk. What are you going to do when some ESPN reporter asks you for your thoughts on the symbolism of whale blubber?”

 

“Well, for one, I’ll know that that person’s journalism career definitely _hasn’t_ turned out the way they’d hoped.”

 

_I’m really, really going to miss him._

 

“I don’t know. I think if I were a reporter, and my boss would let me get away with it, I’d totally ask something like that, just to watch everybody squirm. I mean, imagine asking a guy like McSorely about literary symbolism.”  

 

“That’s just evil, Cat Lady.”

 

“You know you’d do the same.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Turning back to her paper, Julie resumed doodling a chain of interconnected boxes as the clock ticked by. Meanwhile, Adam resumed his attempts at balancing his pen across his nose, having long given up on even _pretending_ to pay attention.

 

Just as Mrs. Connelly turned to write something on the board, she was interrupted a rap at the door.

 

Turning back around, she waddled towards the back of the class, opening the door to reveal a weary-eyed Scott Banks, standing there in a flannel shirt and dirty work boots. The last four years having taken their toll, he was a far cry from the privileged badboy Julie remembered, his dark hair thinning and his flannel shirt straining at the buttons.

 

 _“Geez,”_ She thought, imagining Adam’s embarrassment. _“Couldn’t the guy have changed clothes first?_ ”

 

“Adam.”

 

Wordlessly, the center grabbed his bookbag and walked out the door, the tinge of pink in his cheeks not escaping Julie’s notice.

…

For the rest of the period, the chair next to her sat empty.

 

At lunch, she noticed that he was _still_ gone, his absence felt as she realized that she didn’t have anybody to steal a french fry from.   Still, as she sat there eating her turkey sandwich, she mostly felt that she’d been given a reprieve; the empty spot beside her making it easier not to think about the conversation she knew was coming.

 

Similarly, seventh period trigonometry came and went, a certain cute preppy nowhere to be found.

 

 _He probably just had grandparents come to town_.

 

As practice arrived, though, her heart sank when Coach Wilson asked where he was.

 

After all, missing a few classes was one thing. Even missing a practice wasn’t out of the question. What sent a chill down her spine, though, was the fact that _Coach Wilson_ didn’t know where he was.

 

While The Banks family may have taken a lackadaisical approach to telling teachers who was doing what, Phil could hardly go an hour without talking to Glenn Wilson.

 

Still, as shot after shot flew past her, Julie tried to shake the thoughts out of her head.

 

 _Phil probably just forgot this time_.

…….

 

After practice, she walked back to the boys’ dorm with Guy, hoping to find Adam in bed, a pen in his mouth, catching up on the day’s homework. When she found his bed sitting empty, she straightened Suge Knight’s tie on the way out and walked back to her dorm, feeling dejected.

 

Back at her desk, she called every number for him she could think of, yet to no avail. Even Scott’s cell phone and pager went unanswered; a rarity for the guy who’s life revolved around selling coke and getting laid.

 

Finally, after seven phone calls, there was nothing left to try. Looking over at her alarm, she realized that it was already past eight, the evening having slipped away with little to show for it. Worried or not, she had a mountain of homework to tackle, and she knew that if she procrastinated much longer, she’d be up half the night.

 

Doing her best to ignore the pit in her stomach, she gathered her books and headed down to the commons room, preferring it to her own distraction filled dorm.

 

Setting out thick tome for A.P. History, she got to work; the endless paragraphs about World War I helping to calm her racing mind.

……………………………………………….

 

“Sleepy?”

 

Noticing that their conversation had petered out, she looked over saw that Adam had slowly slouched further and further, until he was essentially laying across the floor, his head propped up at a 90-degree angle against the bottom of the sofa.

 

“Nah, just getting comfortable.”

 

“That…doesn’t look very comfortable.” She smiled, reaching up to grab a throw pillow off the loveseat for him.

 

Handing it to him, he slid the rest of the way down, curling up with the needlepoint pillow of a whale’s tail under his head. Wiggling around until he finally found a comfortable position, he sighed with contentment.    

 

“Has anyone told you that you’re the best?”

 

“Heh, you’re not too bad, yourself.”

 

Grabbing another throw pillow, she laid down beside him, looking up the candy stripe canopy above.

 

“You really do have an impressive variety of sheets.” She laughed, glancing over at the sleepy hedge-funder beside her.

 

“Well of course. That’s why people move to the suburbs, you know—more room for all the different sheets.”

 

“I _knew_ it!”

………………………….

February 27, 2000

_“_ Julie?”

 

In her mind, she was floating through outer space…a different outer space, one filled with cotton candy and licorice. Riding a spaceship made of taffy, she reached out and grabbed a bit of Jupiter, it’s atmosphere blue raspberry flavored.

 

“Julie?”

 

“Mnn”

 

The voice beside her not registering, she continued on her way, floating out towards Saturn and it’s bright, gummy rings.

 

“Julie”

 

This time the voice was a bit louder, snapping her back to Earth.

 

Opening her eyes, she cursed the end of her delicious space exploration, blinking as the florescent lights above seared at her corneas.

 

 _“Guess I feel asleep.”_ She realized, looking down to see that her trigonometry textbook was dotted with drool.

 

Groggy, she turned and noticed Adam standing behind her, still in the Harvard sweatshirt and chinos he’d had on earlier that day.

“Oh, hey. I’d tried calling you all evening. Where’ve you been?”  

 

Reaching up to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she caught a glimpse at the time on her lavender Baby-G watch.

 

 _“2:15?”_ She realized with a start _. “What’s he doing in here at 2:15?”_

 

Her attention piqued, she looked back over at him, glancing up and down for some clue as to what was going on.

 

His chinos were a bit rumpled, and his hair wasn’t quite as tidy as it had been that morning. As he stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor, she couldn’t tell that something _wasn’t right_. The sparkle in his eyes was missing, replaced with a deep blue abyss that left her unsettled.

 

“You okay?”

 

For a moment, the words just hung in the air, Adam not saying a thing as he shifted his weight onto his heels.

  
“My dad died.”

 

 _Oh my God_.

 

Snapped from her daze, she got up and wrapped her arms tightly around the boy standing in front of her, holding him as tightly as she could.

 

“I’m so sorry.” She repeated, her face buried against his maroon sweatshirt. “I’m so, so sorry.”  


	6. Please Come Back

An hour later, the joy of being together again was no longer enough to fight off the sandman. Glancing back over, Adam's eyelids had gone from heavy to closed, the side of his face nestled into the throw pillow.

"You need some help up?" She asked, lightly nudging his arm.

"I'm good." He muttered, "Night night."

Gathering the candy wrappers and pitcher of sangria to take back to the kitchen, Julie felt torn.

On one hand, he  _did_  look awfully comfortable, and it seemed a shame to wake him again.

On the other, she suspected that the floor would seem far less comfortable as the night wore on, and she was pretty sure he was going to have a hard time fixing the situation by himself.

Walking back into the living room, she paused for a moment, finally grabbing a tan and white cashmere throw from their blanket moat. Placing it over him, she knelt down and tucked it around his shoulders, hoping to make him as comfortable as possible.

_Hopefully he won't regret this too much in the morning_.

"Night night, my sweet prom king." She whispered, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before she got back up. "I love you."

.

Making her way back up the steps, she once again found herself drawn to the upstairs gallery wall, and the old hockey trophies that dotted the built-ins along the hallway. Looking at the photos from national championships gone by, and of a much younger Adam frolicking on a beach with Laura, both arms wrapped around her, it sunk in that  _he'd_  never seen that part of the house. That the things that made his lovely mansion a home were a mystery to him,  _his_  world one of threadbare Persian rugs and oil paintings mined from his parents' house.

_He's missing all the best parts_.

* * *

March 2, 2000

_Ama-zing grace_

_How sweet the sound_

Sitting back in the pew at St. Stephens, Julie scooted around, trying to adjust her black shift dress. Though it had looked fine in the mirror, as she sat down, she realized she was exposing a bit more thigh than she'd intended…a fact only made worse by the fact that she was surrounded by tight lipped mourners three times her age.

_That saved_

_A wretch_

_Like me_

Next to her sat Adam, the dark circles under his eyes all but matching his suit.

Wearing his dad's Rolex and engraved signet ring, Julie couldn't help but notice that the last vestiges of boyhood were gone; his black sport watch now relegated to the same pile of castoffs as the oversized polo shirts and jeans that didn't quite fit. As she took in the handsome man next to her, she couldn't help but miss the awkward seventh grader of her earlier memories. The kid who had stumbled over his words and teared up after Bombay benched him was relatable. This…wasn't.

Instead, he and Scott sat side by side, looking like perfect, manicured shells.

For four days, she'd been waiting for tears. Or anger. Or denial. Or yelling.

Or…something. Anything.

.

She'd only been to two funerals before—one for a great aunt in Kennebunk, and the other for Hans. At both, there had been a scattering of people, but those people were crying and holding one another. There had been tearful eulogies from family and friends that reminisced on old recipes, and funny quirks, and stories that had occurred long before she was born. Though she had barely known either person, she'd left the funerals mourning the loss of their presence, and celebrating a life well-lived.

Now forty-five minutes into the service, there were still no tears. No stories of high school pranks, or failed attempts at barbequing. A priest, an old colleague, and Adam had all given their eulogies, yet each speech covered the same bases: That Phillip had worked hard. That he had been good at his job. That he had provided well.

The entire time that she listened to Adam's measured words, she thought of her own dad, and his predilection for Harley-Davidson shirts even though he didn't own a motorcycle. She thought of the way he'd sing along to Jimmy Buffet as he fixed omelets on Saturday mornings, and the rusted 1982 Honda Accord that sat idle in their backyard, even though her mom always griped that it was making them look like a couple of hillbillies. She thought of the way he'd play hockey in the driveway with her and her brothers, and come home every Friday with a grocery bag full of candy and Ding Dongs, and his insistence every summer that the Red Sox would finally win a world series.

He wasn't perfect, but he was a  _person_. A person who was loved and cared for, and who made their sprawling 70's ranch with the worn carpet and sponge painted walls feel like a home.

All of that felt like such a contrast to the packed pews of St. Stephens, and the bland platitudes about perseverance.

_._

An hour into the service, Bunny finally got up to speak, her black stilettos click-clacking against the wood floor as walked to the front.

"Phillip and I married 26 years ago…" she began, looking down at the piece of white printer paper in front of her. "We met when I was interning at his firm. For 27 years, he-"

Her voice cracking further with each word, Bunny looked out across the sea of black wool and tight chignons and shook her head. Tearing up the piece of paper in her hand, she could be heard muttering 'screw this'.

"You know what?" She began again, louder this time. "Phillip was a real asshole. It-it was a mistake. It was all a mistake. I…don't really know why I didn't get the abortion. I should have. They were legal by then. I should have gone back to Yale.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Scott. But you know it's the truth."

Too captivated by the disaster unfolding at the altar, Julie didn't notice the commotion going on beside her until she felt the vibration of the pew and saw Scott shoving Adam back into his seat.

"Let her talk."

Adam struggled against the elbow pinning him, but even after four years, Scott had the size advantage.

"I just. This wasn't the life I wanted. Not…not with him. Damn bastard…"

As anger started to trail off into a quieter despair, an older gentleman started making his way towards the front of the church.

"Sylvia, I think you've had a rough week. How about you—"

"Shut the fuck up, Jack!"

No longer restraining Adam, Scott was now the one charging towards the front the church, Adam trailing behind, trying to hold back his brother.

"Scott. You sit back dow—"

Before long, the older man was on the ground, Scott sending his fist into the guy's jaw.

"You fucking kid diddling piece of shit."

Every punch and every obscenity echoed through the church as a silence overtook the sanctuary. Suddenly the focus was not on Bunny or Scott, but on Scott's words. Concerned women looked over at the husbands and sons, their eyebrows asking the things they couldn't bear to say.

Before Julie could process what was happening, Adam had stormed out the back doors and into the frigid March air, nary a word spoken.

* * *

The next morning, Julie got up at eight. The sun shining in through the chintz curtains, she lay in bed for a moment, basking in the suburban grandeur of it all.

No honking traffic fourteen stories below. No garbage trucks or jackhammers or buildings going up next door. No "minimalist" West Elm furniture that seemed to start sagging the minute it left the showroom. Just an endless expanse of pristine lawns, long, winding driveways, and high thread count chintz.

With one last yawn, she pried herself from bed and made her way downstairs, the smell of bacon wafting through the air as NPR played on the radio.

Down in the kitchen, Laura was preparing breakfast, the blanket fort long put away as Adam slumbered on the living room floor.

"Ah, why good morning, Julie!" She greeted, looking up from the pan of gravy she was stirring. "Anything in particular you'd like for breakfast?"

Her shoulder length bob already coiffed and her seersucker robe neatly pressed, Julie could feel the sense of inadequacy rising in her throat as she looked down at her own ratty Dartmouth shirt and mismatched socks.

"I'm fine with anything."

"Well, I have biscuits and gravy going for the boys and Adam, but if you'd like something else, I don't mind. I can always fix French toast or waffles…"

" _I can always fix French toast or waffles."_  Julie mocked in her head,  _"Or I can harvest some oranges from our indoor solarium for fresh squeezed orange juice, or I can go borrow the neighbor's cow, or I can hunt down a unicorn and slaughter it for sparkly, rainbow bacon…_ "

"Don't worry. Biscuits and gravy are fine."

"Then biscuits and gravy it shall be. Feel free to make yourself at home. We have coffee, orange juice, apple juice, sparkling water, champagne. Or, there's a full liquor cabinet over in the dining room, if you'd like."

_Did these people rob a Wegmans?_

Just as she was walking over to the refrigerator, a cell phone alarm started chiming in the living room, the crescendo of beeps accompanied by a sleepy "fuuuuck".

As Julie reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of Perrier, the sleepy obscenities continued, growing louder and more frustrated by the second. Laura, meanwhile, simply stirred the gravy, stifling a chuckle at the morning theatrics.

"Aren't you sad you never got married?" She remarked, never looking up from the stove. "Men are just so lovely."

Unscrewing the lid on her water, Julie could hear glass shattering over in the living room, the clatter accompanied by a yelp of pain.

"Fucking shit!"

Startled, she set down drink down on the counter to investigate, unprepared for what she was about to face.

**...**

Walking into the living room, it took every ounce of self-control she had to keep her jaw from dropping as she surveyed the disaster in front of her.

There, lying sprawled across the floor was her first love, just as she'd left him the night before. The difference was,  _now_  his front teeth were laying out beside him, and his shirt had ridden up in the night, leaving his surprisingly large gut hanging out in full view.

Beside him lie a broken wineglass, and with every sleepy movement, he was painting himself in blood.

_What in the fuck?_

"You uh, you need some help there?"

"Fucking floor." He muttered, his eyes still matted with sleep. "Damn towelhead fucking rug."

"It's good to see somebody's still the morning person I remember." Julie laughed, recalling the grouchy morning practices of yesteryear as she averted her eyes.

_Pretty sure it's going to take more than two cups of coffee to fix THIS_.

"Meh, you're just jealous you don't wake up as sexy as I do."

"The envy's been eating away at me since high school."

"It's okay." He smiled, exposing the black abyss where his teeth were supposed to be. "I love you even if you can't be as sexy as I am."

"Yeah, you're setting the bar pretty high there, cakeeater…

Taking hold of his hand to help him up, she brought the bloodied appendage in closer, her brow furrowed with concern as the examined the deep cut along his palm and the shard of glass still lodged near his index finger.

"Are you alright?"

"Heh, of course I am." Glancing himself up and down, he took note of the streaks of blood he'd left down his shirt and pajama pants, letting out a chuckle as he thought about it all. "You don't get to be  _this_  good looking by being the kind of guy who falls apart over a little cut."

Reaching down to pick up his teeth and cane for him, she put an arm around him for support as they made their way to the master bedroom and en suite bathroom.

"What am I ever going to do with you?" She sighed, re-examining the glass shard in his finger.

"Nag me about switching to plastic?"

"That probably would be a good idea in your case."

Digging through the cabinets for tweezers and gauze, she did her best to ignore the contents of his drawers, dozens of pill bottles, a marijuana pipe, and cigarette lighters all clattering about as she rummaged through a drawer by the sink.

_Tsk tsk, oh preppy one._

Catching her glance, he gave an innocent shrug.

"What?"

Shaking her head, she gently took hold of his hand again, this time dabbing his cuts with peroxide as he tried not to flinch.

"I think you might be a mess."

"You just  _think_  that?"

* * *

March 2, 2000

"Adam!" Julie shouted, chasing after him in her shift dress and heels. "Adam, wait for me."

Desperate to catch up with him as he bolted from the church, Julie abandoned what little decorum she had left, kicking off her black pumps as she ran down the aisle and into the frigid March air.

"Adam!"

Her voice trailed off into thin air as he climbed into his Porsche and sped away. Crumpling to the curb, she buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

.

She wasn't sure of exactly  _what_  she'd lost, but she was all too aware that  _something_  was gone.

"Come back, Adam." She muttered to herself. "Please come back."

**…..**

For what felt like hours, she sat out there alone, the icy wind beating against her skin.

.

"Julie?"

Feeling a jacket drape over her shoulders, she looked up, and was greeted by a familiar set of blue eyes.

Lowering himself down beside her, Scott ran a hand through his thinning hair and sighed, every second of his twenty-six years showing as he contemplated the right words.

"Want my mom to adopt you? Because between my dad and Susan, we should have a couple of openings…

* * *

Ten minutes later, Adam's hand was neatly bandaged, and the morning's crisis had been averted. As she left him alone to shower and get ready, she couldn't help but spend a moment snooping around his bedroom, her cat-like curiosity hidden by the sound of the shower.

" _Yup. The preppy I remember is definitely still in there somewhere."_ She thought as she looked around the room, smiling.

.

For all of his issues, his adult bedroom really  _was_  as charming as his teenage dorm had been so many years before. The white, Georgian paneled walls overflowed with interesting, colorful art, and Mr. Fluffy could still be found sitting on a Queen Ann chair by the bed. Suge Knight stood guard in the corner, dressed for summer in a grass skirt and bikini top. On the dresser were a scattering of pewter frames, featuring he and Laura on their wedding night, cutting into a cake that towered over them both, and of he and the boys at their old house, standing beside a 6 ft. tall snowman dressed in a tie and sunglasses, Adam beaming with pride.

Glancing over at his nightstand, Julie shook her head as she noticed that next to the copies of The Wall Street Journal and The Economist sat a crystal ashtray, nearly overflowing with cigarette butts and partially finished joints.

**…**

An hour later, when Adam returned from the bathroom, he was a man transformed, his bandaged hand the only bit of continuity from earlier that morning. Now bright eyed and looking like a young Harrison Ford, he seemed to have washed away about thirty pounds in the shower; a phenomenon that left Julie staring at his chambray shirt and white chinos, trying to figure out where exactly everything  _went_.

_It's like that Volkswagen at the circus, where 100 clowns climb out_ …

.

"Why good morning." He greeted, still rubbing the stiffness out of his neck from the night before. Pausing, he glanced over at the plate on the counter, his eyes lighting up. "Biscuits and gravy? Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"

Leaning over, he gave Laura a quick kiss before reaching for his coffee.

"You don't love me. You're just using me for my gravy making abilities."

"Well, it was between you or the Waffle House cook…" He deadpanned, reaching over for a piece of bacon from the serving platter.

"I'm certainly glad you made the choice you did!"

"Heh, well, Brandi turned me down, so it wasn't really much of a choice."

Laura chuckled, sitting down beside him at the kitchen island. Massaging the back of his still-stiff neck, he seemed to melt into her, letting out a sigh of contentment as she brought him some much needed relief.

"And whoever said you were my first choice?" She pointed out, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"I mean, I'd certainly hope I wasn't. That would be aiming pretty low.

.

"So Jules." He added a moment later, between bites of bacon, "What are your plans for the morning? Because I've got a busy day of meeting with my psychiatrist and sobbing alone in my car afterwards, so that leaves you with your pick of going to the mall with Laura and the kids, or Netlfix and chilling in the way that involves clothes.

"Or not. I mean, you'll have the house to yourself. But the couch has survived three disgusting kids, so I recommend clothes."

* * *

March 2, 2000

"Adam?"

"What?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah"

There, in an empty parking lot overlooking the Mississippi River, the two sat side by side in his warm Porsche, freezing sleet falling all around them as Adam stared out the windshield.

Leaning against the heated seat, Julie just looked at the man next to her.

Begging him, begging the universe for answers.

And yet, no matter how hard she looked, she got nothing. He was an island unto himself.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk about what happened in there with Scott?"

"Nope."

"Do you realize that I love you?"

"Yeah."

Finally, at a loss for anything else to say, she simply took hold of his hand and held it, rubbing the rough callouses with her fingers. Looking down, she smiled—the watch and signet ring were different, but his fingernails were still gnawed down to non-existent nubs.

That was one tiny piece of him that had never changed. That silly little piece of her first crush was still there.


	7. Southdale

Though the Banks' down filled sofa beckoned, Julie had already discovered that her sleep deprived packing skills left a bit to be desired—she had no fewer than six outfits to get her through the next two days, but no clean underwear.

Faced with little alternative, she saw her Netflix dreams vanish before her very eyes, replaced instead with a trip to The Southdale Mall, right alongside three kids who had zero desire to spend their morning buying clothes for sailing camp. By 10 a.m., Julie found herself in the front seat of an aging Toyota Land Cruiser, a half-eaten Happy Meal down by her feet.

" _I think I can tell who spends more time with the kids_." She thought, moving the fries and crayons from the cupholder.

"Maaaaaahhhhhm, Tucker's looking at me!" Will whined from the backseat as the sun beamed in.

"Shut up, dickhead. I'm not even looking at you."

"You shut up, assbrain!"

"You hear that, Mom? Will said ass."

"Did not, assbrain!"

"Dickwipe."

"Tucker Tucker butt fucker"

"Will Will Mom should have took her pill!"

"Maaaahhhhm, did you hear that?"

"Mom, Will hit me!"

"He hit me first."

"Did not"

"Did to"

"Did not"

"Did too"

"Shut up, Dickbreath!"

"Mom, he called me Dickbreath."

_And people talk about defunding Planned Parenthood?_

"Cum licker"

"Bitch tits"

"Knob gozzler"

"It's knob  _guzzler_." Laura pointed out, her weary gaze never veering from the traffic ahead. 'Besides, that one never made much anatomical sense, anyway. You can't guzzle a solid object. That's like calling someone a cup guzzler, or a coffee table guzzler."

Leaning back against the plush leather, Julie stared out at the expanse of suburban consumerism that stretched out in front of her, the argument in the backseat continuing to rage. Now well past the Banks' leafy, tree lined neighborhood, the circular driveways and stately colonials had given way to eight lane boulevards, clogged with other massive SUVs.

In a business move that seemed to defy all comprehension, every two blocks, they passed another Target and Starbucks, the combination leaving Julie to ponder just how many frappucinos and novelty throw pillows Minnesotans were consuming every week.

"Mommmmmyyyy" A softer voice whined from directly behind Julie, "I need to use the potty."

"Shut up."

"Don't tell your sister to shut up."

" _Yeaaah_ , don't tell Caroline to shut up, fuckface."

_I reallllllly made the right choice._

**…...**

Thirty-nine minutes, seven miles, and two bathroom stops later, they had finally reached the mall, Julie having made a mental note to start donating more to the local abortion providers.

Walking through the glass double doors of Southdale, she could see the pink and black Victoria's Secrete façade glimmering in the distance, the pink neon a beacon of hope. Never in her life had she dreamed that 5 for $25 panties could hold such promise.

As Laura made the fateful trek down to J.C. Penney's, Julie just stood there in the concourse, thanking God above for delivering her from the bowels of hell. Watching Tucker and Will take turns punching one another as they walked towards the department store, she found herself thinking that federal prison actually sounded pretty nice; far preferable to the alternative.

* * *

March 11, 2000

" _Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, my sexy birthday boy, happy birthday to you._ "

Julie had turned out the lights in her dorm room, but the 19 candles on the store bought cake illuminated everything, giving an ambience to the cramped dorm and dollar store party decorations.

In the magic of the warm candlelight, the homemade computer paper banner, unevenly draped streamers, and wilted balloons hanging behind Adam could  _almost_  pass as charming, just as Julie could  _almost_  pass as domestically inclined.

…

The overachieving goalie had never been Martha Stewart, and never was she more aware of that fact than at holiday time. Every year, she would peruse cookbooks from the library and imagine the beautiful party decorations she  _could_  create, determined that this would be the year when she would give him the celebration he deserved.  _And_ , every year, a few days after those fantasies, she would arrive back at her dorm room with a sad looking cake from Econofoods and an even sadder bag of balloons and streamers and wrapping paper that, try as she might, would always look like exactly what they were: $8 worth of inartfully arranged crap.

This year, with things being what they were, she was more determined than ever to give him the type of birthday he deserved. Whether their relationship was winding down or not, she still wanted to him to have a nice 19th birthday; the kind of day to take his mind off of estate settlements and the 200 lb. hole left in his family.

Determination, however, did not translate into aptitude, and no amount of effort or good intentions could save her underinflated balloons and copy paper banner. Spread out over five sheets of paper, the words 'Happy Birthday' read as 'Hap pyBirt hda y', and the tattered blue and green streamers sagged in all of the wrong places. Under the harsh florescent lighting, there was no denying that her decorating attempts had fallen flat. That everything about the situation was being held together with scotch tape, destined to fall apart at any moment.

In the flickering candlelight, however, the room looked pretty nice.

In the flickering candlelight,  _everything_  looked pretty nice.

* * *

Four hours later, Laura and Julie returned to the sprawling colonial, Caroline now covered in chocolate, and Will dripping with water, courtesy of an impromptu swim in the mall fountain.

"Why do they talk about the decline in child abductions like it's a  _good_  thing?" Laura pondered aloud, her fourth grade son squeaking across the kitchen.

.

Looking out through the French doors, Julie could see Adam out on the veranda, sprawled across an outdoor sofa with a glass of gin hand.

" _These people really know how to make life look good."_  Julie thought, eyeing the manicured boxwoods and chinoiserie urns.

Walking outside to join, Adam sat up to make room on the couch, the awkwardness of his movement not escaping Julie. As he reached for the coffee table to help pull himself up, she couldn't help but notice the short grimace of pain that shot across his face, and the way that his limbs no longer moved in any natural harmony. Reminded of how disabled he really was, she felt guilty for disturbing him.

"So what did you spend your morning doing?" she asked, sitting down beside him.

"Exactly what I said earlier. You have fun at the mall?"

"There's really nothing like Southdale with three kids to affirm that whole 'childless' thing..."

"See, now that's why I really recommend being a  _dad_." He pointed out, smiling. "Not that New Age bullshit where you wear your kid in your manbun or something—the regular kind, where you go to one or two of their hockey games a year, and everyone makes a big deal about it."

"You really are a beacon of enlightenment."

"I have faith that you could be a dad, too."

"I don't think that's how it works…" Julie chuckled, leaning back against the other end of the sofa.

"Well, if Bruce Jenner gets to be a mom, I don't see why you can't be a dad. Besides, you can open jars, and you have a  _way_  better job than I do!"

"Are you implying I'm more of a man than you?"

"If the strap-on fits."

"Wha—" She shook her head, laughing. "I would be offended, but I'm not sure which of us that's really more insulting  _to_."

"Heh, don't worry." He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners as the sun washed him in a flattering glow. "You're way hotter than any guy. And you smell better."

"You've always smelled pretty good…"

" _My_  hair doesn't smell like coconut."

"I don't think that's like, inherent to being a woman. I think that's because I use coconut shampoo. Yours would smell the same if  _you_  used coconut shampoo."

"For like, five minutes." He reminded her, looking back down at his now empty glass. Swirling it around, he lifted crystal lowball to his lips, trying to get one last drink amid the ice cubes. "You also make better life choices than I do. Mine would smell like cigarettes and pot smoke by noon."

Pausing for a moment, Julie looked back over at her first love with concern, chewing at the side of her lip.

.

He was as beautiful as she remembered, and every bit as charming. More than anything, though, she longed for him to be  _okay_. To go back to the days when he seemed stronger than his demons.

.

"What ever happened to the good little hockey nerd who wouldn't even drink soda?"

"Technically nothing. That's like, the one bad habit I don't have.

"Besides," He added with a soft smile, "I think that person was more a figment of Duck imagination than anything else. My friends and I were like, building potato bongs by fifth grade. I just didn't  _talk_ about that stuff like Portman..."

Julie simply nodded.

"I wish you would have talked more."

"Me too."


	8. Then What Do You Want to Do?

March 16, 2000

Even as the pages of the calendar started to peel away, and the days grew longer, winter refused to release its icy grip. Outside, sleet pelted the windows; all of Minnesota painted in a sleepy grey.

Inside, Julie and Adam snuggled on the Banks' sofa, a fire crackling. Together, they sat surrounded by a moat of textbooks and notecards; the formulas and vocabulary words and dates of wars keeping the larger world at bay.

…

With the Eden Hall library packed, and their dorms growing claustrophobic, the two had decided to head a mile down the road so they could study in peace. Bunny asleep upstairs, and Scott back at his apartment downtown, the Banks' mansion  _did_  provide a lovely escape from the hoards of stressed 16 year olds cramming for midterms. However, the longer they spent memorizing formulas and re-writing equations, the louder the  _real_  questions on their minds grew.

"So you've really decided against Harvard?" Julie asked, her head resting against Adam's shoulder as she watched a log burn in the fireplace, a few errant sparks shooting out across the marble.

"Yeah. I'm just…I don't think I'm really the Harvard-type."

"If  _you_  aren't the Harvard-type, I don't know who is."

"Heh, I don't know.

Looking out across the Georgian paneled living room, the answer seemed obvious to Adam. Right above the fireplace hung a 4 ft. tall painting of tight-lipped British men on a fox hunt. Sitting atop their horses in spiffy red coats, they literally looked down on him every day. Always there to judge his every move.

 _Even our art knows I'm not good enough_.

"I mean, you are. You'll be great at Dartmouth. But you've even said it yourself—Harvard is for people who want to like, travel the world, and speak French, and eat sushi-"

"It's just fish."

" _Uncooked_  fish." He reminded her. "Our ancestors invented fire for a reason."

"Whatever. They have cooked fish, too."

"Or do they?  _Technically_ , I have zero proof that they have cooked fish in anywhere in Boston. Or even that Boston exists. The whole place might have been made up lure Midwesterners to their deaths."

"You are  _way_  weirder than people give you credit for."

"I do what I can."

"Well fine, if you don't want to go to Harvard, what  _do_  you want to do?"

"Play hockey."

"I mean, what  _else_  do you want to do?"

This time, Adam sat quieter, her question one that had hung in the back of his mind for the last four years. Ever since the day Dr. Chen had told him his hockey career was over, he'd questioned what life held after. What he'd do once his body could no longer absorb the crushing hits. For four years, he'd tried to come up with a satisfactory answer, and for four years, he'd come up short.

His arms still around her, he once again pulled her in close as he leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.

"I don't know. The families in the Lands' End catalog always look pretty happy."

"You want to live in a clothing catalog?"

"It looks like a nice life." He pointed out. "Plus, you'd never be lacking for sweaters."

"True."

"Julie. Do you take me, Adam, to be your catalog husband—provider of rain jackets and $40 jeans—in summer and winter, back to school  _and_  Christmas, for as long as we both shall live?" He asked, holding her so close that she could feel his heart beating through his cashmere sweater.

"I do."

"Perfect. Then I have everything I want."

* * *

Still lounging together outside as the birds chirped from afar, Julie realized that the afternoon was slipping away, one leisurely glass of gin and tonic at a time.

"So." She asked, looking back over at Adam. "Have you thought about what time we want to head over to Charlie's? It's past three, and I don't know how long it takes to get there."

"New Hope?" He shrugged, "Like, 20 minutes.

"Are you sure you don't want me to just drop you off?"

Julie looked back over at him, shaking her head.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty sure about that, Cakeeater. Besides, why  _wouldn't_  you go?"

Massaging the back of his neck, he sat quiet for a brief moment. Staring out into the distance, he focused on the nearby Minnehaha Lake, and the way its water glistened in the sun.

"You were always more of a Duck than I was."

"You spent two years as captain."

"Warrior captain. I was the varsity Warrior captain. I'm pretty sure that makes me the anti-Charlie."

As he reached over for a cigarette off the end table, Julie averted her eyes, suddenly  _very_  transfixed by the time on her watch.

Though not the chainsmoker his dad and brother had been, Julie still found herself bothered by his periodic bouts of smoking.

Sure, he always had a drink in hand, and sure, his bathroom cabinets were littered with pill bottles of Vicodin and Percocet and OxyContin. Sure, she'd noticed enough pipes and rolling papers discreetly stashed away to put any teenage stoner to shame, and yes, she  _had_  heard the rumors that he'd at one point devolved into a heroin junkie, shooting up in the company bathroom at his old job. Still, somehow all of that was different.

Cigarettes, more than anything, seemed a cruel departure from her happier memories. More than the rest, they reminded her that her beloved hockey star was long gone. That he'd never again be the boy she remembered; gliding across the ice that day in the Coon Rapids practice arena.

"Considering Charlie's reign at the helm of JV?" She chuckled, forcing herself out of her thoughts. "I don't think anybody was too heartbroken by the change."

"I don't know.

His good hand still bandaged from that morning, he fumbled in vain with his lighter, the flame flickering for a second before petering out. "They were more your friends than mine. Besides, this  _is_  a really comfortable sectional."

"You and Laura do pick out good furniture.

"But seriously." She added. "Everyone misses you. Besides, I think it would be good for you to have a little more diversity in your life."

"And what's  _that_  supposed to mean?"

"I've creeped on your Facebook." She laughed, curling her knees up against her chest as she thought back to the pictures of him and Scott at the lake, or of he and Reid up in the Golden Gophers skybox, drinking beer in their matching Patagonia pullovers and gold watches. "I know that your social life consists of your brother and Larson."

"So? They're good guys."

"No argument there. But I do think there's something to be said for  _occasionally_  talking to people who don't have Rolexes."

"Rolexes are pretty cheap." He shrugged, still fiddling with the lighter. "I think most people have one."

"I rest my case. Also, how  _did_  you ever survive prison?"

"Hey now! Fifteen years of hockey followed by ten more of investment banking? I'm pretty sure I'm tougher than any tax evading accountant!"

"Yeah, you're totally what I think of when I think of tough guys."

Adam just smiled, his eyes once again crinkling shut.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

**…..**

A short time later, Julie was back upstairs getting ready for the evening while Adam sat down in the living room, indulging Caroline's desire to watch Frozen for the 9,000th time. As Julie shimmied into her favorite white sundress, she could hear the strains of 'Let it Go' coming up through the vents…complete with a rather off-key, distinctly  _male_  addition to the ensemble.

_And to think people ragged on him for being gay?_

_I'm pretty sure the gay ones aren't this musically challenged..._

Still, she smiled as she thought back to the sight of him and Caroline snuggled up on the sofa, Adam dawning a silver wand and plastic tiara with his chambray shirt.

 _He really is pretty adorable_.

Reaching into her suitcase organizer, she rummaged around for a pair of earrings and the right necklace, pulling out a familiar diamond pendant. As she clasped the gold chain around her neck, she thought back to the boy who gave it to her twenty-one years earlier, and the hopes of forever she'd felt as he helped her put it on, his warm, calloused fingers brushing against her skin.

* * *

April 3, 2000

"And you don't even want to  _try_?"

Adam sat across from her on the bed, his jaw set, but his brows furrowed in concern.

The conversation had been put off for over a month, but as the dogwoods began to bloom and the talk around school shifted from hockey to prom and graduation, Julie knew there was no putting it off any longer. Like it or not, they  _were_  going to be graduating soon, and Adam  _was_  going to have to figure out what he was doing after high school.

Alone.

Without her.

"I just…I think it'll be better this way."

Adam sighed, running a hand through his sandy fringe.

"What if—what if I did go ahead and go to Harvard? I haven't committed to Minnesota yet. What if I was in Boston, and we were only like three hours apart?"

Julie paused for a moment, chewing on the side of her lip.

The thought was tempting.

She  _did_ , after all, want him to go to Harvard. And a piece of her  _did_  want to try to make it work.

But she also knew that she'd only be delaying the inevitable—that even if Harvard and Dartmouth would be good bedfellows, the NHL and Dartmouth would not be.

"Yeah, but that's…that's not the point."

Clutching her pillow in tighter, she took a deep breath before she continued, hoping that she was making the right choice.

"I mean, yeah, we could probably make it work for a year, but then what? You'll go off the NHL, and before long, I'll be applying for medical school. What are we supposed to do then?"

"Fuck, I don't know. Whatever it is that people do?" He shrugged, tearing at a loose piece of fingernail as he leaned back against the wall. "I mean, there are these cool things called 'planes'—I've heard you can take them from one place to another. It's a pretty good system, really."

"I'm serious."

"I'm serious, too."

"I just—I don't know. I—I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

"I can't spend the rest of my life with you."

It had been the most decisive thing she'd said all day, and before the words even left her mouth, she knew they were true.

Still, they hung in the air, swallowing up all of the oxygen in the room.

True or not, they hurt.

For a moment, they both just sat there. Processing.

Finally, Adam got up from the bed and put on his jacket, tears starting to well in his eyes.

"Fuck you." He muttered as he walked towards the door, refusing to look back.

Reaching for the door handle, the whole room turned to a watery mess as he choked back snot and tears. She was the one thing he loved more than hockey, and now she didn't love him back. Maybe she never had.

"I don't love you, either." He shouted back from the safety of the hallway, his wounded ego convinced that hurting her would somehow make it all better. "I hope some patient gives you AIDS!"

"And I hope some goon knocks out all of your teeth!"

" _Not really_." She thought, clutching her pillow in even tighter.

 _You have really nice teeth. I hope you get to keep them_.

* * *

"Wow. You look…as gorgeous as ever." Adam commented as Julie walked down the stairs, his eyes drawn to her toned legs and the way that her little white sundress skimmed her every curve.

With Caroline snuggled up in his lap, he found himself saying a quick prayer of thanks for the fact that things downstairs were no longer terribly responsive, the recalcitrance of the troops suddenly a blessing in disguise.

_At least Viagra's covered by insurance. Childhood therapy isn't._

Glancing his first love up and down, he unconsciously found himself pulling Caroline in tighter, hoping to cover his doughy midsection.

Next to Julie, he felt even more self-conscious than usual, thinking back to the mangled pile of flesh that he stared at in the mirror each morning.

Every day, it seemed, the march of time further took its toll. No amount of diet or exercise or physical therapy or good tailoring quite able to hide the way that injuries had warped every inch; the way that nothing was shaped the way it was supposed to be anymore.

" _Forget 'Body by Bowflex'."_  He thought to himself. " _I've got 'Body by Picasso'_."

"Why thank you." Julie smiled, her cheeks flushing pink at the compliment. "You look pretty wonderful, yourself."

As she reached into her purse to double check that she'd remembered her phone and wallet, Adam took the opportunity to discreetly adjust his medical-grade abdominal binder, eager to relieve a pain in his rib.

.

On one hand, the binder  _did_  do a nice job of supporting his back and keeping the doughier parts held in place. On the other hand, it was hot, and it dug into his ribcage; always jutting in at the most miserable angles possible.

.

"Well are you ready to go, beautiful?" He asked, everything now adjusted into a more tolerable position.

"I am.

Julie smiled, eyeing the plastic tiara that he'd forgotten to take off. "I just can't believe that I'm in the presence of royalty here."

"Princess Adam at your service."

Carefully, he placed the tiara back on Caroline's head before trying to extricate himself from the sofa.

" _No_. You can't relinquish the crown that easily!"

"Don't worry, Jules." He reminded her, kissing the hand that she'd extended in order to help him up. "I don't need a crown to be a very special princess."

"No you do not."

Walking towards the door, she stopped at one point to fix the bangs of a certain 'very special princess'. Standing so close, her fingers in his sandy hair, she found herself mesmerized by  _him_ ; by the way that his smile was still as perfect as ever, and by the way that he looked cuddled up with Caroline. By the way that the same march of time she wanted to Botox away had only made him more attractive; the creases around his eyes highlighting their sparkle, and the softer bits making him all the more delightful to hug.

She thought back to their promises of 'forever' when they were 17, and the way that they slow danced one last time on his wedding night; his 'forever' now belonging to someone else. Someone who wore pearls and baked muffins.

* * *

April 3, 2000

"So. Are you alright?"

For four hours, Adam had been missing in action. Not long after he left, Julie called his dorm, hoping to end things on a slightly more pleasant note. When Guy picked up, he informed her that he hadn't seen his roommate, but that he'd give her a call when he returned.

Hour after hour slowly ticked by on the clock, the knot in Julie's stomach growing as she realized it was getting dark.

She'd called his house, and later Scott, and then Larson, but still, as late evening set in, Adam was nowhere to be found. In a moment of desperation, she'd even gone so far as to send Crawford a message on AIM, but the only thing that got her was a ten minute discussion about golf.

Finally, around 9, Adam arrived back at her door, this time covered with mud and walking with a limp.

.

Jogging, as it turned out, had  _not_  been the wisest way to clear his head.

At least, not in loafers. Not when it had just rained earlier that afternoon. And not when he was paying so little attention to his surroundings. A slippery mud puddle and a concrete curb later, his lesson had been learned the hard way.

.

"I think I'll live."

Julie looked down at the ripped knee of his khakis and shook her head, the mess in front of her strangely fitting for how she felt.

"You look pretty pitiful."

"Oddly enough, Thad and the nurse both said the same thing."

"Should I even ask?"

"Yeah no, Thad watched the whole thing happen. He made me go to the infirmary to get checked out…you know, once he quit laughing."

"Nice."

Sitting back down, Julie patted the bed next to her, motioning the mud monster to come join. As he complied, she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Taking hold of his hand, the two just sat in silence for a moment, no words quite right.

"Are you sure you don't need some ice or anything?" She asked, eyeing his bandaged knee.

"Nah. Thanks, though."

"You're really okay?"

"Of course."

"I still wish you'd go to Harvard, you know." She added, nuzzling her face against his cheek. Instinctively, she planted a kiss along the scar from that fateful Christmas party, just as she'd done every day since January.

_He really is pretty wonderful._

"I mean, not for me, but for you. I think you'd really like it, and I worry that you'll regret it if you don't go."

"Heh, it's not for me

He pulled her in tighter, relishing the feeling of her body against his. Relishing the scent of her coconut shampoo, and the way that she always knew how to make him feel better about his biggest insecurities, without ever saying a word.

Over or not, she was his one true love, and he worried that he would never feel as complete without her.

"But I  _do_  hope you enjoy Dartmouth."

"And I hope you enjoy Minnesota."

"I'll always love you, you know."

"I'll always love you, too."

 

 

… **.**


	9. Reunion

Sitting in the passenger seat of the Audi, Julie kept fiddling with the radio, trying to find a distraction from how  _quiet_  the ride to New Hope was.

The Adam she'd been joking with mere minutes earlier was nowhere to be found, replaced instead with a guy who suddenly seemed very concerned about speed limits and blinker usage along suburban thoroughfares. As he lit another cigarette, she started to re-remember their Warrior days, this time not through the softened glow of nostalgia, but as things  _actually_  were.

.

As much as she hated to admit it, they  _hadn't_  been a unified team.

Their junior year, as the remaining Ducks were either moved up to varsity or cut entirely, Wilson had made Adam captain with hopes that he could help bridge the divide between them and the Warrior legacies.

And, in a way, he did: Under his leadership, hockey became the sole focus. Unlike Riley or Scooter or Charlie, he didn't particularly care about old loyalties or interpersonal dramas; he expected perfection from every player at every practice.

In terms of creating a winning team, it worked. However, it meant he never received the love those other captains did.

Once his own perfection came crashing down, there wasn't much left.

…

"I think this will be fun." She assured him, double-checking the directions on her phone.

"Yeah."

Looking back over at him, his eyes were glued to the road, his face giving little away. The fingers on his left hand drummed at the steering wheel, leaving his right side to seem all the more frozen by contrast.

"They really did care about you, you know..."

"Yeah."

"You don't say that like you believe it." She spoke softly, chewing at her bottom lip.

"I don't  _not_  believe it. Just, you know…"

"They did care. They  _do_ care. They're just…things are complicated sometimes."

"Yeah."

"Really. I—I think this will be good for you. I think this is something that you need."

"I think what I need is another drink."

* * *

May 16, 2000

"Dude, this isn't exactly the Oscars. People kind of show up if they feel like showing up. There isn't much I can do about it."

Charlie sat pouting on a stool by the kitchen island, while Adam filled a cooler with beer. At the other end of the island sat Julie, doing her best not to roll her eyes at the whole discussion.

.

For the last two days, Charlie and Adam had been at one another's throats over the guest list for Adam's graduation party, with Charlie annoyed that the guest list was filled with guys wore Nautica and smelled like Polo Sport, and Adam wishing that Charlie would learn to stay out of matters that weren't his business.

Julie, meanwhile, found herself more grateful than ever that she was finally going to be getting away from the never-ending Edina drama. After two days of their back and forth, she was starting to lose patience with them both.

.

"You could tell them they weren't invited."

"Yeah Charlie. I'm really going to go out there and tell them they're not invited. Because  _that_  would go over well."

As Adam grabbed an armful of Bud Light, Charlie glared out a group of Breck lacrosse players who had congregated in the foyer. All four had the same gelled hair; the same frat bro swagger and the same annoying names like Parker and Conner and Todd.

_I can't believe he'd invite those guys and leave out his own teammate._

"You didn't invite Portman."

"I didn't  _not_  invite him. It's not my fault that they're here and he's not."

"I think you made it pretty clear."

Adam sighed, pausing his cooler-filling duties to open a beer for himself.

"I didn't make anything clear. I just said I was having people over. Whoever wanted to come was welcome to come."

"Yeah, but you know that's not how it works."

"That's on him. It's not like I sent any of those guys an engraved invitation begging them to come. They just came."

Purposely silent on the matter, Julie looked out the window as the two continued to argue. Arriving in packs, the Banks' yard filled with Abercrombie-clad revelers; a sea of suburban jocks and their perfect blonde girlfriends surrounding the pool.

Though she didn't mind most of them, she had to admit that Charlie had a point.

It was clear who the party was meant for, and it wasn't meant for people who had to work part-time at ShopRite to help support their families.

" _They_  feel included."

"So?"

"So you do a better job of making random Breck preps feel included than your own teammates."

Adam just shrugged.

"Okay, well, sorry if I'm nicer to people who're actually nice to me than someone who calls me a fag all the time."

"You're a bigger dick to him than he is to you."

"And how is  _that_?"

"Seriously dude?" Charlie asked, his eyes growing wide. "Do you ever listen to a word you say?"

"I hardly even talk to him."

"Yeah,  _that_  part is half right. The only time you ever say anything to him is to ride his ass for not being good enough."

"And what else am I supposed to do?" Adam argued, setting down his beer. "Send him a fucking singing telegram to thank him for showing up to practice on time? I mean, granted, I wouldn't have to send one very often…"

"I just don't get why you can't be nicer."

"He punched me in the face during a scrimmage. I don't exactly think  _I'm_  the issue here."

"You're a punchable guy."

"Whatever."

"Seriously though." Charlie paused, his brow furrowed. "What about our last game? You called him a fuckup in front of the whole locker room."

"Well yeah. He was a fuckup. He'd been playing like shit all night."

"That was the last game. And we  _won_. There wasn't any purpose to what you were doing—you were just riding him for the hell of it."

Charlie leaned back against the stool, taking another drink of his own beer. Julie, meanwhile, stared down at counter, studying the flecks in the granite.

This was  _not_  the ending to their days at Eden Hall she'd been hoping for.

"It was the national championship. A Jamaican Helen Keller would have played better."

"You knew his mom was in the hospital."

"For her fucking gallbladder. If he considers shit like that a distraction, it's probably time he cut down on the creatine so he can grow some balls back."

"Yeah, well." Charlie retorted, getting up to go join the revelers outside. "I've always thought you should cut down on the Vicodin so you can grow some feelings back, but I guess everyone's just doing what they want."

"Get fucked."

* * *

Turning into the Oak Hills Estates subdivision, Julie had to suppress a giggle at the fact that there were, in fact, exactly zero oak trees, hills, or estates in sight.

There were, however, row after row of tract houses. All of which looked identical, with their beige aluminum siding, flat rooflines, and treeless, postage stamp sized yards. For what seemed like miles, the middle class homogeneity stretched out in every direction, only the occasional summer wreath or pot of geraniums differentiating one house from the next.

"They really do know how to name subdivisions…" Adam mused, sharing her sense of irony.

"I know, right?"

Looking back over at him, his face had relaxed, his fingers no longer drumming frantically at the wheel. A smile was starting to work its way up through his features, his mouth turning up at the corners.

"I'm proud of you, you know."

"Heh, not much to be proud of here." He chuckled, "But thanks anyway."

"You were a good captain.

"You were good at a lot of things."

She smiled as she watched the light return to his eyes, a hint of pink creeping through his cheeks.

"Well thank you. You were pretty amazing yourself."

Reaching over, she took hold of his right hand and gave it a squeeze, their arms resting against the leather console. As the stereo played The Revivalists ' _Soulfight'_ , she smiled at the familiar warmth of it all; the fact not escaping her that their hands still fit perfectly together.

…..

Turning onto Sycamore Terrace, Julie could see all of the cars lining the street—a mixture of bland rental cars and aging Nissans and minivans in a row.

As they neared 1604 Sycamore, she could see Connie in the front yard, catching up with Kenny and two Bash Brothers, while Kenny's wife stood a few feet away, tending to the new baby. Looking closer, she laughed when she saw that Portman hadn't completely retired his old high school wardrobe; the aging middle manager dressed in a Metallica tee and black bandana.

Glancing back at the guy beside her, she couldn't help but shake her head at the contrast between the two.

"See, now  _that's_  a look you need to try." She joked, eyeing his $300 sunglasses and perfectly tailored oxford.

"Well, I would say that I don't really have the body to pull that off, but then again, I don't think that's stopping him."

"Very true"

"Then again," Adam pointed out, well aware of both the fact that he didn't have room to be judging other men's bodies  _and_  unable to resist a bit of harmless flirtation. "Come to think of it, I don't really have the body to pull  _this_  off, either. You might have to help me get undressed tonight."

"I can't tell if that's supposed to be a pickup line or a statement of fact," Julie joked, undoing her seatbelt.

_Bad Pussycat._

_Married._

_Extremely married_.

"Well, it depends. I mean, I  _had_  meant that I'm not always the best with buttons, but if you want to help me get naked and settled into bed, I'm certainly not going to stop you."

"Perv"

Looking over, Julie saw that he'd turned bright pink, even the tips of his ears and the base of his neck flushing magenta.

"That was a perfectly wholesome statement. I can't help it if you have a dirty mind."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you meant it in a  _very_  wholesome way."

"I did. I did," He insisted, a smile creeping through despite his best attempts at a straight face. "I mean,  _you're_ the doctor here. I'm sure you do that all the time."

"I think you've confused actual doctors with  _Naughty Nurses V: Dr. Lovewood and the Boob Exam_."

"So many hospitalizations since seeing that movie." He sighed, shaking his head. "So many disappointments."

"It  _really_  did create some unrealistic expectations with regards to patient care," She agreed, nodding as he found a parking spot between a rental Kia and what she presumed to be Guy's Yukon.

"I'm holding out hope.  _One day_ , Dr. Lovewood will need me. And I'll be there!"

"With wood?"

"With all the wood a beaver could dream of!"

* * *

May 16, 2000

"Come on, I will if you will." Adam laughed, looking over at Charlie.

"No way. You're crazy."

"What? I've done it like, 100 times," He reassured him, stretching the truth just a tad.

_Twice. A hundred times._

_Same thing._

The two were standing atop the Banks' second floor balcony, overlooking the pool. A few minutes earlier, Crawford Wellesley had decided to impress the female guests by shotgunning a beer with his teeth. Never one to be outdone, particularly by a guy like Crawford, Charlie had decided that he needed to upstage the performance. He needed to do something bigger. Grander. More likely to drop panties and/or land himself in the emergency room. In a fleeting moment of male pride, he looked up, and as he saw the sun shining over the sprawling Tudor, inspiration beckoned from the great above.

He  _would_  jump off the balcony into the pool.

He  _would_  show the world that he was way more of a man than Crawford Wellesley.

Unfortunately, this declaration was made before realizing just how high up the balcony really was…

With each step, Charlie could feel his heart sinking further, the Banks' house somehow tripling in size by the time he made his way up the stairs. Now standing at the railing, it felt like he needed binoculars just to see the pool, thousands of acres of bone shattering concrete between him and the water. He could already see the funeral playing in his mind, poor Casey sobbing by the casket as Crawford enjoyed a threesome in the bathroom with the Bergjorn twins.

This…hadn't been his finest move.

And, for better or worse, the one guy who  _didn't_  have to worry about impressing girls had followed him up.

"No. Not doing this."

"Come on. You know you want to."

"I don't want to die!"

"Dude." Adam laughed, his Abercrombie model smile gleaming even whiter in the sun. "You're not going to die. I'm pretty sure like, a zillion people have done this, and the only one who ever missed was Scott."

"And what happened to  _him_?"

"Okay, well, he shattered his femur. But on the upside, now when he goes through metal detectors, he has a card he can show them, so they never even suspect that he has a gun. So…I guess that kind of worked out in the end."

"That's the least reassuring thing I've ever heard."

"Nah. It'd be less reassuring if he died." Adam pointed out, his humor hiding growing the lump in his throat.

After all, it  _was_  a rather long jump. And the concrete below  _was_  rather hard. And he  _was_  kind of scared of heights. And there  _wasn't_  really much point to the whole exercise.

But, a real man never admitted to being scared.

"You're warped."

"Well, yeah."

"You're going first."

"So you can see if I die?"

"Yup."

"Fine. We'll do it together."

"If you make it and I don't, tell my mom I loved her."

"If you make and I don't, tell my mom to fuck herself."

….

"Julie!" Connie squealed, the first to notice the new arrivals. Running towards the parked SUV, she nearly tackled Julie as she got out, the passing years having done nothing to dampen her enthusiasm.

"How have you been? Oh my gosh I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you, too!" Julie crowed, the two swaying back and forth in delight.

"It's been too long!"

"It's been  _much_  too long!"

"Also, it's not fair how hot you still are!"

"Umm, yeah. Coming from the woman who still looks 18?"

"I. Wish."

"I love you."

It wasn't until Kenny and the Bash Brothers headed over to greet the  _other_  new arrival that Connie's focus shifted, finally realizing that Julie had not simply materialized out of thin air. As she looked over, her face once again lit up, happy to see that a certain reclusive Minnesotan had made his way out of Edina.

"And how are you?" She asked, making her way over to the driver's side to give him a hug.

"Heh, I can't complain." He shrugged, wrapping his good arm around her and pulling her in tightly. "And how about you? Does it feel good to finally have your husband back after seventeen years?"

"I still can't believe that he's actually retired! It just makes me feel so old to say it."

"You  _are_  old, Ms. Germaine." He laughed, that mischievous twinkle back. "Practically ancient."

"Thanks."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm still a year older, so if you're ancient, I'm basically just a corpse with a job."

Stepping back, she looked him up and down, seeing him in person for the first time in almost two decades.

"It looks like you're doing pretty well for a corpse."

"Thanks. I had a good mortician."

* * *

May 16, 2000

"See? I said you'd live."

"I'm never doing that again, Cakeeater!" Charlie gasped, still trying to catch his breath after the plunge.

Even after having landed safely in the water, he could feel his heart beating in his ears and the stinging in the bottom of his feet, his whole body eager to remind him of what a stupid thing he'd done.

He did  _not_  feel cool.

He did  _not_  feel proud of himself for upstaging Crawford.

He felt like a moron.


	10. Retirement

"Okay, so seriously, how have you been?"

Julie sat next her former roommate on the porch swing, looking down at her beer.

As basic of a question as it was, she couldn't help but pause, stuttering for an answer.

.

Her dreams had come true.

Of all of the Ducks—for that matter, of all of the Eden Hall Warriors—she and Guy were two of the only ones who could say that. There had been no sick parents. No unexpected pregnancies. No career-ending injuries. No rejections from a league that ultimately decided they just weren't good enough.

Her best-laid plans really had come to fruition. Life really had turned out much the way that she'd hoped; those prayers made in the back of her parents' Ford Aerostar answered from the great above.

.

And, it was all…okay.

"I've been good."

"Sounds convincing."

"What? I have been." Julie insisted, looking back up at her old roommate as she took another drink.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I'd  _assume_  you've been good. But how are you really doing? Because you don't exactly sound enthusiastic…"

"I don't know. I'm fine."

Connie paused thoughtfully, running a hand through her flowing, chestnut mane. Considering whether to press the issue further, her eyes scanned the suburban lawn, and the boys clustered into their little groups, dotting the landscape.

Over by the barbeque grill, she could hear Goldberg and Russ arguing over the proper way to cook a steak, while down by the fire pit below, the Golden Boys of the Golden Gophers sat around, laughing as Charlie exaggeratedly re-enacted a goal he'd scored 20 years earlier.

"Some things never change, huh?" She smiled, shaking her head at the former Duck captain's antics.

"Nope. They sure don't."

* * *

"Come on, Mary Anne. You've never had a job."

Sitting back in her childhood bedroom, Julie turned down the TV. Though she didn't particularly  _want_  to, she couldn't resist the urge to hear what her parents were saying.

To peek into the unpleasant truths of their lives.

.

She'd spent enough time with various friends to understand that all parents fought. The only real difference was how they did it: Justin's mom was a crier; terse conversations reaching a crescendo as the waterworks began, and Mr. Mahoney stepping back in to make it all better, always there to comfort his wife, no matter how much they disagreed.

Connie's parents liked to yell; their shouting matches a July storm that would come without warning, and give way to the warm, baking sun just as quickly.

Kate's parents were easily amongst the WASP-iest in Bangor, and that carried right through to their arguments. Mr. and Mrs. Kemp didn't  _argue_  per se, so much as they displayed less enthusiasm while discussing the need to get the Volvo's oil changed. This could go on for weeks; their disagreements quietly simmering beneath the surface as Mrs. Kemp noted that John across the street had lost a couple of pounds, and that perhaps  _their_  family should try eating more salads, while Mr. Kemp remarked that the Hollinsworth family always looked really nice, and that Mrs. Hollinsworth certainly did keep a lovely house. And then, at some point, the ice would begin to thaw, and Mrs. Kemp would still comment that John's diet seemed to be working, and Mr. Kemp would still comment that the Hollinsworths looked nice, but this time, there would be no malice behind it.

As for the Gaffney's, well, they fell somewhere between the Kemps and the Moreaus. Tom and Mary Anne always left just enough unsaid for Julie to know that things were worse than they sounded.

.

"I think you're giving yourself a little too much credit here."

"See?  _This_  is what I'm talking about. Nothing is ever good enough, is it?"

"Well, if you'd just-"

"Shut up."

"Don't talk to me that way."

"Don't tell you to shut up? Would you prefer that I tell you to stop being such a nagging bitch?"

"Screw you."

"Just...go to hell."

Thumbing the volume button of the remote, Julie sat back in her bed, trying to decide whether she wanted to keep listening as their words carried through the walls. A few feet away, the 24" RCA shone; that night's  _South Park_  episode promising an escape from her parents' woes.

* * *

"So he's really retired, huh?"

Leaning back against the porch swing, it was more a statement of fact than a question—of  _course_  he was really retired. At thirty-six, he was a veritable dinosaur by hockey standards; a slow, aching brontosaurus left in a world of flying cars and vacations to Mars.

Still, Julie was now nearly two decades removed from the hockey world, and stuck in the professional world.

A world where colleagues often died before they retired.

"I know. It still feels so weird." Connie agreed. "You go seven years talking about how 'this may be the last season', and it doesn't even seem real anymore. It's like when you're a kid, and you hear your parents talk about 'this might be our last Christmas with Aunt Gertrude', but next thing you know, you're 25, and it's still Christmas with Aunt Gertrude. And then suddenly it's not."

"That's rough."

"It is." Connie nodded. "Like, I'm happy and all, but it's just…weird."

"So weird."

At a loss for what else to say about the situation, the two looked out over the deck railing, at the guys down below.

Sitting around the fire pit, Charlie still hadn't lost a bit of his enthusiasm for re-living his athletic feats from 20 years prior, the stories having only grown more impressive with the passage of time. He was now pantomiming a goal scored against The Breck School's JV squad back in 1997, reenacting every move with his imaginary hockey stick. Waltzing around his bemused audience, he deked left, deked right, and then in an accidental nod to reality, tripped over a rut in the lawn. Before anybody could do anything about it, he found himself facedown in Adam's lap, the blush in his cheeks hidden by an expensive pair of chinos.

Watching from above, Julie nearly spit out her beer at the sight.

"Okay, you  _know_  he's been dreaming of this moment since we were like, nine." Connie chuckled, thinking back to the way their favorite spaz always used to watch the Hawks warm up before games.

 _He looked like he wanted to make out with them in hopes of gaining their magical powers_ …

"You are such a bitch."

"You know I'm right."

"Well yeah."

Trying to contain their laughter, both girls watched as he tried to extricate himself from his former teammate's crotch, Guy glancing up at them with a nod of approval.

"A golden opportunity, and they blew it." Connie sighed as Charlie went back to his own lawn chair; the bromantic-blowjob ship having sailed off into the sunset.

"Or failed to."

"And  _I'm_ the bitch?"

"You're  _always_  the bitch."

Connie laughed, starting to take another drink before she realized her glass was empty. Getting up, she walked back inside for a refill, Julie following behind.

"So speaking of childhood dreams," She continued, opening the refrigerator. "How are you and Adam?"

"What do you mean 'how are we'?" Julie chortled, reaching for another beer herself. "We're friends."

"Just, I don't know."

" _What_?"

"You two  _are_  still weirdly adorable together."

"Eww!"

"How's that 'eww'?"

"Because he's married with four kids."

"I didn't mean like  _that_!" Connie clarified, leaning against the Formica as she poured another glass of chardonnay. "I just meant like, you two still look comfortable together. I think you're good for one another."

"I mean, I guess?"

"You are."

Connie thought about going on. She thought about mentioning the fact that she was still friends with Bethany Callahan, who still lunched with Laura every Wednesday at the ECC, and that if third-hand accounts were to be believed, the guy outside humoring Charlie's Glory Days recap was probably the best version of Adam anyone had seen in eighteen years.

She thought about mentioning the fact that Julie herself looked about as happy as she had in awhile; her eyes finally moving with her face whenever she smiled.

Looking down at her glass of wine, though, Connie decided to drop the subject.

After all, Fulton and Portman were standing ten feet away, trying to figure out how to make a beer bong with a funnel they'd found in the cabinet.

"What do you want to bet that funnel is for like, motor oil and stuff?"

"Eww, seriously."

"Hey, I heard that!" Portman chimed in, still not abandoning his mission to find plastic tubing. As he rifled through Charlie's junk drawer, Fulton stared down at the stained plastic funnel and made a face.

"Dude, they're probably right."

"Whatever. You sound like Megan or something." Portman retorted, not looking up from the drawer full of odd rubber bands and misplaced markers.

"Megan's probably the only reason you're not dead yet, dumbass."

"You callin' me a dumbass?"

"Sure am. Dumbass."

"Cocksucker."

Before long, Fulton had his old Bash Brother in a headlock, Portman flailing around as the girls went back outside.

"Do we look that dumb to guys, or is that like, a one way thing?

* * *

June 29, 2000

"Ugh, can't you losers help clean?" Julie complained; a broom in hand as Shawn and Tim sat on the sofa, playing Tomb Raider and coating the rug in a fresh layer of Dorito crumbs.

"Why'd we do that?" Tim mumbled, never looking up from the screen.

"We're having company!"

" _We_  aren't having company. Tim and I aren't tryin' to get laid."

"You're  _always_  trying to get laid, asshole."

"Yeah, but not by dudes."

.

Despite the fact that she had made it very clear that she and Adam were no longer a thing, and despite the fact that she'd repeatedly reminded herself and everyone else within a 9,000 mile radius that there was absolutely zero chance that they were going to get back together, she'd decided mid-June that Adam should come spend a few weeks in Bangor before the craziness of college hockey began...a decision that Adam didn't argue with at all.

.

"Yeah, how come you get to have your boyfriend come move in, anyway?" Shawn chimed in, reaching over for the 2-liter of Mountain Dew that he'd decided to commandeer for himself. In the background, the familiar video game music continued to play, leaving Julie to wonder how she could possibly be related to such idiots.

"He's not my boyfriend, and he's not moving in!"

"Mom and Dad won't let Kelsey stay over."

"Kelsey's a skank."

"So?"

"So she lives a block away." Julie reminded him, shuddering at the thought of her hygiene challenged brother and  _Kelsey_ , the beauty school dropout who now worked at a bowling alley. "There's no  _reason_  for her to stay over."

"Whatever. That's bullshit."

"You're bullshit."

"Dumbass."

"Tard."

Picking up a dustpan, Julie resumed her work, making a mental note to wait until Shawn had left for his job at Pizza Hut to attempt vacuuming the living room.

 _"Not that it will do much good."_  She thought, her eyes focused on a threadbare section of sofa that had been patched with embroidery floss five years prior. Stuffing now showed through the stitches; bits of beige foam sticking out in puffs.

* * *

"Dude, you  _know_  you're trying to get in my pants."

"Whatever."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."Adam chuckled. "Just ask Laura. I'm totally the best she ever had."

Ten minutes after the lap incident, Adam and Charlie were still ragging on another; twenty declarations of 'no homo' having given way to a debate about who wanted to suck who's dick. Happy to stay out of the debate, Guy focused on roasting his marshmallow, determined that  _this_  one would avoid the fiery fate the last two had succumbed to.

"Pretty sure you're the  _only_  one she's ever had."

"Well, yeah. That's why I told you to ask  _her_. Small sample sizes are key here."

"You would know about small things, wouldn't you?" Charlie smirked, reaching down for his beer.

"The way you'd walk around the locker room? We  _all_  got to learn about small things."

"Screw you."

"You're not really my type." Adam pointed out, giving his friend a contrite shrug. "I'm afraid your attraction is a one-way street."

"You're such a fag."

"I'm not the one trying to get in my lap."

His marshmallow finally toasted to perfection, Guy rejoined the conversation just as a billow of smoke started to shift his way. His eyes watering, he shifted closer to the other two in a bid to escape the blowing ash.

"Come on, Cakeeater." He chided. "You know that was the most action you've gotten in months."

"Well yeah. No shit." Adam agreed. "Just because I'm Laura's best doesn't mean she's interested."

"That's weirdly sad, bro."

"Meh, 18 years of this mediocrity?" He shrugged, leaning back against the lawn chair. "I think she's handled it pretty well!"

"Self-esteem really isn't your thing, is it?"

"Nope."

"Heh, you might try it sometime. I hear good things about it."

**...**

"That's...going to be a lot of togetherness."

Connie and Julie sat back on the porch swing, the realities of Guy's retirement still sinking in. Connie just nodded, taking another drink.

"So. Much. Togetherness."

"That  _Introduction to Family Relationships_  class really left some stuff out."

"No kidding!" Connie laughed. "Damn you, Mrs. Johnson. Three weeks on how to work together to pick paint colors, and nothing on this?"

"Yeah, but I've seen the pictures of your house on Facebook." Julie smiled, curling her legs up underneath her as she watched the sunset in the distance. "You totally have the whole greige thing mastered."

"Five houses, and the same shade of greige has worked every time."


End file.
